


The War for Thedas

by forever21lupus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Dragon Age Fanfiction, F/M, Long, Minor Alistair/Female Warden, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Original Character(s), Post-Trespasser, Varric is too tired for this, also: warnings are hecka important, i'm gonna stop tagging now, if you like to be happy probs shouldnt read, literally every dragon age character ever, minor fenris/original character, minor hawke/original character, so long, so much freaking angst, too minor ):, very minor adoribull
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever21lupus/pseuds/forever21lupus
Summary: With the Exalted Council breathing down Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan's neck, and a new, powerful threat growing in the shadows, the Herald of Andraste might have finally bitten off more than she can chew.





	1. Chapter 1

When Ellana Lavellan was a child, she had towered over the rest of the children her age. Though she was bony and skinny, her long limbs had the clan elders convinced she would make a promising shieldmaiden. The warriors in her clan had tried to train her. It turned out to be a long, embarrassing affair that only managed to last a few days before they handed her over to the hunters. Her awkward length transitioned to a lithe and slender frame rather than the hulking, muscled warrior they expected. And sure enough, within a few years, the girl became the best archer the Lavellan clan had ever seen. 

A part of her wanted to tell Cullen that story. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t insist on her training with a sword and a shield. He was having no more luck than the old warriors of her clan had; she was as clumsy and terrible as the first day they started.

They stood on opposite sides, and she swung first. She tried to move fast, aiming an ill-timed cut at his side. He easily blocked it with his shield, hitting her sword hard enough to knock her off balance. Staggering, she barely managed to bring up her shield to block his attack. Even so, he hit with a bruising amount of force, and it took all of her strength to remain standing as she stumbled back.

As time went on, her clumsy attempts to attack only got worse. Every strike against her shield reverberated her arm, causing discomfort that quickly became pain. She tried to fight through it, to ignore it, but soon enough she was side-stepping and favoring the left. Her stump started to ache, then throb, as the gauntlet Dagna had fashioned knocked repeatedly into the bandages.

They had been training every morning for the past two weeks, ever since they had journeyed back from the painful ordeal at Halamshiral. With only one arm left to her name, and the realization that Solas was a lie and planned to destroy the world they called home, the Inquisitor had been adamant about the training.

He made a fool out of her; it didn’t seem like she would ever get used to the balance. She tried to flit around him, using her smaller stature to her advantage, but the height difference between them was too minimal for it to work, and he was far too good to fall for her tricks.

Ellana saw the blow coming and even still she couldn’t stop it. Cullen’s wooden sword rapped across her back, and she cursed as it stung. 

“You gotta move faster, boss,” Bull coached from the sidelines. Blackwall - Thom Rainier nodded in agreement at his side. 

“Thanks,” she said, dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“You’re too busy watching my sword. All sorts of warriors do strange things with their hands: watch my shoulders and my hips and you’ll be able to see where it’s coming.”

“I knew where it was bloody coming,” Ellana said. “It still didn’t help a damn.”

“Perhaps I might make a suggestion?”

They all turned, and there stood Divine Victoria, donned in white gown and all. Her hat rested in the cradle of her elbow and hip, and a sly smirk rested on her lips. “There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must lay down their weapons. Wars are won in many ways, Inquisitor. Perhaps you should leave the fighting to others.”

“Not a chance.” 

Leliana’s smirk only grew, as if that was the answer she’d secretly wanted. After telling the spy all she could of Solas’s plan, they had agreed to tell the Council only the bare minimum before returning to Skyhold to begin thinking of how they would stop him. They had been waiting on her arrival to begin, and now that she had arrived, they needed only to wait for further agents.

In the wake of Solas’s betrayal, and after losing so many of her Inner Circle, they had decided it was best to induct new people. Of course, anyone they recruited had to be trusted and battle hardened. Leliana had sent out at least a dozen ravens, but only three had returned. The Champion’s companions, Fenris and his lover Althea, had arrived a few days earlier having abandoned their hunt for slavers. They were still waiting on the last, one of Leliana’s friends from her time during the Fifth Blight who she was planning to let take over her position as spymaster.

Ellana started to gesture a guard over to lead the Divine to her room, but she only waved them away. “I’m hardly senile. I remember the way to my room. Soon after, though, we should get started.”

“Without your friend?” Ellana asked.

“He should be here any second. Besides, any number of you can catch him up.”

With that, Leliana left them, and her and Cullen returned to training. He feigned to one side. She fell for the ploy and lunged. As soon as the blade pressed against her stomach, she realized what he was doing and stepped back, panting. 

“You’ll never get better if you don’t try,” he said. 

“Trust me.” She wiped a damp palm on her breeches. “I’m trying.”

“I know you’d rather have a bow, but you cannot rely solely on that.”

“I just want to be good again, Cullen,” she said. Pieces of her dark red hair stuck to the sides of her face and neck.

His eyes softened in sympathy, and she had to look away. “Perhaps what the Most Holy said was right. About you taking a break.”

“Cullen-”

“You don’t need to be right in the middle of the action all the time,” he said. She stood with her hand on her hip, emerald eyes shining in the sun. “You were never the best fighter to begin with. Your talent lies in your ability to lead, to inspire.”

Iron Bull cleared his throat. “We do have a meeting to get to, in case you guys forgot. Would hate to be the one to keep her waiting.” He cast an apprehensive glance to the castle before shivering.

“He does have a point,” Cullen said.

Glad for any distraction that would get the Commander off her back, and hopefully remove this ridiculous notion of her giving up far out of his mind, she agreed. They didn’t bother going back to their rooms to change; instead, as a group, the four of them headed up into the castle towards the war room. 

Alone in a hallway is when the assassin struck. A quick kick to the back of the leg knocked Blackwall to his knees, and Ellana felt herself being snatched. She might have struggled as she was yanked away from the three massive warriors but for the blade pressed to her throat. Iron Bull started towards her, instinctively, but Cullen stopped him.

There was a laugh in her ear, surprisingly light and at ease, despite holding a woman at knifepoint in front of three massive warriors. “Truly, I did expect  _ some _ sort of-”

Ellana slammed her elbow into his stomach, feeling the  _ whoosh  _ of air against the back of her neck as she knocked the wind from his lungs. She stepped down hard on his toes, and the assassin cursed brilliantly before she cracked her head back against his face. Twisting away and out of his grip, Cullen yanked her back.

The assassin held a hand over his nose, wincing and staring at her with very accusatory eyes. “ _ Ouch _ ,” he hissed. With a frown, he wiped away the blood, gently poking at his nose, feeling if it were broken. It was not. 

“You did start it,” Ellana pointed out, more than a little bewildered at the sudden and random attack in the middle of her own castle, surrounded by some of the strongest fighters in Thedas, by the assassin who was…  _ joking _ about it. 

He flashed a toothy grin, seemingly unable to help himself. “I suppose I did.”

Ellana looked to Cullen with wide eyes. “Aren’t you going to do something? Arrest him, for example.”

“No need,” the ex-Templar said through a tight mouth, obviously displeased. “This is Leliana’s friend. The assassin.”

“Some might call me Zevran, but I suppose ‘the assassin’ works just as well. It does add an extra flair of mystery.” He waggled his eyebrows, and a flush crept up Cullen’s neck though he was unhappy. “And you must be the Commander. Strange, to see how much you have grown since your Templar days.”

If Cullen’s face could get any tighter, he might turn to stone. “Cullen Rutherford,” he said stiffly. 

Zevran’s golden eyes turned to her, lips curling into a smirk. “Lady Herald,” he said with an over exaggerated bow, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It is an honor to finally meet you. The stories do not do your beauty enough justice.”

Ellana couldn’t help but let out a strangled, stunned laugh. “Do you try to kill everyone you meet?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He winked before sizing up Iron Bull and Thom. “You must be two of her staunchest companions. Your reputations proceed you.”

Blackwall snorted, unimpressed. “As does yours. An assassin, hoping to throw in their lot with the Inquisitor? Not suspicious at all.”

Zevran narrowed his eyes at the Warden, a mischievous gleam sparkling in them. “Suspicion is good. It will keep you alive. Just ask our friend, the Hero of Ferelden.”

“How did you get in here?” Cullen demanded, changing the subject. “The guards at the gate were under strict orders to send a messenger the moment you arrived.”

“I entered through more… devious means.” He grinned at Cullen, his gaze shifting back to the Inquisitor. “Perhaps we should speak of this with your old spymaster? Best not to keep her waiting too long, no?”

Not quite sure what to think, Ellana could only shrug away the momentary panic and continue, assassin in tow, towards the war council room. As soon as the heavy doors opened, Zevran grinned at the new Divine. “Ah, my dear! You look as stunning as always.”

Dressed in her old attire, it was easy to pretend like she had never left. However, the new and still vaguely unfamiliar faces crowded around the table attested to a different story. Zevran fell into place beside the bard, who was dangerously close to a smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Zevran. How do the Crows fare?”

“Much better now that they are dead,” he chirped cheerfully with a wicked grin. His gaze fell on Fenris, standing on the opposite side with his lover Althea. The Dalish woman was quiet, and slender, and her golden hair gleamed with the sunlight streaming through the window. She was a spirit healer, gentle and calm, the seemingly complete opposite of her brutal and unforgiving companion. “Fenris. Lady Althea. It has been some time.”

“Quite,” Fenris said, tartly.

“You would be quite interested to hear that if I were planning to kill your fearless leader, I would have succeeded.” 

Leliana cut a gaze to Ellana, who gave a slight shake of her head. Instead, Cullen answered for her. “He managed to slip past the guards, into the castle, and all the way to the Inquisitor before anyone could stop him.”

“You serious?” Sera exclaimed with wide eyes before turning to Cullen. “That explains your face.” 

Leliana’s eyes were narrowed with displeasure, though she smiled, as if it were humorous. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged innocently. “When I see a challenge, I like to take it. At least we know now what needs to be done.”

“Shall we begin?” Leliana inquired, changing the subject. 

They all turned to Ellana, and once she had opened the crystal around her neck to allow Dorian into the conversation, she began. “Long story short, the elvhen gods were Evanuris, a group of extremely powerful mages. They abused their powers and mostly killed Mythal.”

“How do you  _ mostly _ kill something?” Scout Harding asked.

“A piece of her essence escaped and survived in Asha’bellanar.” Althea’s eyes stretched wide, and Zevran’s narrowed, but the others were just confused. Ellana elaborated, “Flemeth, I think, is her human name.”

“I always knew there was something off about that woman,” Zevran said, and he shook his shoulders as if he felt a chill. 

“In return for killing Mythal, Solas created the veil as a means to trap the gods. But the elves’ immortality, powers, and cities were tied to the Fade. So, when the veil was raised-”

“The elves began to age,” Cullen finished. Of course, he and Dorian already knew everything she was informing the rest of. They had been the first to know, as soon as she was clear-headed after losing her arm.

“And Arlathan was destroyed,” Althea added with a slightly horrified expression.

“After, he went into Uthenera - hibernation, essentially,” she explained, “and woke a year before the Conclave. He realized what he’d done and was trying to unlock the orb’s power so that he could bring down the veil, but he was too weak.”

“So he gave his orb to Corypheus,” Blackwall said, nodding as the pieces began to fall into place.

“Wait.” Sera’s eyes were squinted in confusion. “If he’s the one who put up the veil, why’s he wanna tear it down?”

“He did not intend the consequences,” Fenris said.

“He told me that it was like walking in a world of Tranquil,” Ellana continued, ignoring the bitterness in her mouth. “He destroyed the People, not the Tevenes.”

Sera  _ pfft _ -ed. “Well, I think we turned out just fine.”

“I heard the anchor took off your arm,” Fenris commented.

The weight of the makeshift gauntlet seemed to grow heavier. “In a way, yes. Each Evanuris has an orb, and only the corresponding Evanuris can wield that power. Corypheus was supposed to die unlocking Solas’s, but because of his rather inconvenient immortality loophole, he survived. That’s why the anchor started to kill me and he took my arm. It was not my power to control.”

“What’s his next move?” Bull asked.

“I think that he’s going to use another orb.”

“Won’t he die if it’s not his?” Blackwall asked. “Not immediately, sure, but eventually?”

“Mythal,” Leliana said, eyes flashing as she came to the same conclusion Ellana had come to. “Of course; Mythal would want the elves to return to their power.”

“She would release the people who killed her?” Althea inquired. 

“If it meant restoring the People, yes,” Ellana said. “Mythal’s spirit has been floating around in a human for who-knows-how-long, so it’s safe to assume that she’s not fully herself anymore. There was a similar instance in your friends, Anders, was it?” Fenris scowled; Althea blushed. “And going off the fact that it’s been two years since the last orb was destroyed and the veil is still up, they don’t know where it is either.”

“I would start in Tevinter,” Dorian commented through the crystal around her neck. “There are ancient pictures of magisters yielding what they call Somnoborium. Dream orbs, or, more accurately, orbs with a strong connection to the Fade. It sounds very similar to what you’re talking about.”

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Blackwall broke it with the grim truth. “Two years is a hell of a head start.”

“That’s why we have no time to waste.”

“My spies are already in place,” Leliana said. “I will send word for them to look for the orb.”

“I shall do the same,” Zevran quipped. 

“I’ll gather scouts. We can start going through Elvhen ruins,” Harding said with a nod.

“Boss? Wouldn’t it be easier just to look for Solas?”

“Yeah,” Sera agreed with a crinkled nose. “Finding a little ball sounds like a waste of time. A needle in a huge, Tevinter-sized haystack. We already know what Solas looks like.”

“It’s not that simple,” Cullen argued, coming to her defense with a stubborn shake of his head.

Althea’s lavender eyes turned to Ellana. “If anyone could find him, it would be you. You know him better than anyone.”

The Inquisitor straightened up, pushing off the war table. “I don’t know the first thing about him.” It burned coming out, but it was the hard truth of the matter. Just because she knew that he didn’t like tea and what side of the bed he preferred meant little and less. He had lied to her from the start; despite all his promises that what they had was real, he was practically a stranger.

“What about all the spies?” Bull asked, cocking his head apologetically, like this was a subject he was not happy to have to bring up. “We’re kinda infested.”

“We’ve been doing a bit of … clean up,” Leliana said, with a dark smile. “My agent Charter is going to be in charge of finding any infiltration in our ranks. Anyone else who wants to join will go through rigorous background checks.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that Solas meant to show me how corrupt we are just to convince me to give up the Inquisition,” Ellana said.

“He’s a smart man,” Dorian agreed. “He won’t underestimate us as Corypheus did. He knows that Ellana at the helm of the Inquisition will undoubtedly sniff him out and end his plan, so he tried his best to manipulate her into quitting.”

Ellana smirked, softly. “I’ve never been good at giving up.”

“Like a Mabari with a bone,” Cullen said, smiling just slightly. 

“And what of the rest of us?” Fenris asked.

“We wait,” Cullen said, “and we prepare. We must be ready at anytime to find the orb, and with the Qunari threatening a war, we can’t afford to take any chances.”

“Another thing.” Their eyes fell on Ellana. “Solas has had spies in here from the beginning. We can trust no one save those in this room. Be prepared to do what you must when you uncover one of his agents.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Dagna summons, it’s always a fifty-fifty chance of getting really good or really bad news, with about an eighty-five percent chance of getting a new toy. So, when a messenger woke the Inquisitor that morning with the dwarf’s request, she couldn’t help a tiny smile.

Seeing as how Ellana was limited in what she could do until she had some makeshift arm back, Dagna had been working around the clock since the Council to outfit her with as many gauntlets as possible. So far, she had only made only the rudimentary one, but she had been quick to promise that it was simply a temporary thing, until she had had time to make something more substantial. 

Even the excitement of a new gauntlet, however, wasn’t enough to shake the dreams. Waking up seemed to be the hardest part. Trudging through day after day was easy; after awhile, the pain of Solas’s betrayal became background noise and she could bury herself in other things. But waking up meant she had to  _ remember _ and remembering always hurt.

Varric had tried to convince her to take some time off, at least for a little while. He had even offered to help whoever took over for the intermediate time. But they both knew it was not in her nature to walk away, and it was not in her nature to let simply pain get the better of her.

After she laid in bed long enough to remind herself that there was no more Corypheus, no demons, no dark wolf with too many eyes prowling the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, she got up. The woman in the mirror was barely recognizable: the strain of the past few weeks was visibly spelled out on her face. She splashed some water across her freckled cheeks before dressing. One-armed, it was an infuriatingly slow process. 

After a moment of hesitation, she put on his necklace too. The jawbone hung heavy around her neck, a reminder of who she was missing. Of what she must do. She stuffed it under her tunic, shivering as the cold bone rested against her skin. 

Dagna was waiting for her in the Undercroft, Sera sitting on a nearby table, swinging her legs and eating breakfast. Ellana’s stomach rolled at the smell of the fresh bread; her appetite had waned, unsurprisingly. 

That didn’t stop everyone from force feeding her. Cullen especially was the worst. The first week, when she would have happily spent her days training until she dropped, he made sure she slept and made sure she ate. She knew it was good of him, and he was doing it because he cared, but it didn’t stop her from being annoyed everytime it happened.

“Catch,” Sera said, and Ellana plucked the handful of bread from the air. She forced it down, though it tasted little better than sand, and smiled at the dwarf. Dagna was all but jumping up and down with excitement, and a wicked grin had split across Sera’s face. Dagna revealed what she’d made with a triumphant, “Ta-da!”

Right after it happened, Iron Bull had mentioned the idea of a crossbow instead of a gauntlet. He had mentioned it in passing, as ‘a cool idea’, before Dorian had prodded him in the stomach with an elbow and shut him up with a glare. It seemed Dagna had taken him seriously, though she had tweaked the design.

Instead of a crossbow, it was a bow. A small one, granted, but a bow nonetheless, attached to a wooden arm. The gauntlet had buckles to strap onto her stump, running about the length of a full arm while the ‘hand’ clutched a gorgeous bow. It was slender and long and light, made of copper ironbark. It looked almost elvhen with all the intricate designs delicately carved into the woods. The ends were whittled to razor-sharp points, fashioned with metal spikes. Though it felt almost hollow when she held it, the weapon was as hard as metal.

“Pretty, innit?” Sera asked. 

“It’s ironbark,” Dagna explained. “Scout Harding helped me get some.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.” She didn’t think she would ever be able to draw a bow again.

The dwarf beamed. “Anything for you, Quizzy! Want to give it a try?”

Ellana could only nod, and the dwarf ran over to a table to snatch up a quiver while Sera helped her strap it onto the bandages wrapped around what was left of her arm. Dagna held up the quiver, and Sera handed her an arrow.

Slowly, she nocked it. She swallowed the lump in her throat and aimed at a target. Her attention, however, shifted to Harrit. He was watching with one eye, tinting some armor with the other. When she turned the bow towards him, he shuffled his feet nervously, eyes widening.

Her expert eyes found their mark. The bow thrummed as the arrow whistled through the air, slamming into Harrit’s flask and ripping it from his hands. He let out a yelp before staring at the Inquisitor, gaping. “Damn you,” he huffed, snatching up the punctured flask with shaking hands. “This was custom-made. You can explain to the Bull why his armor is stained.”

The reverberation jarred her stump, and for a moment the sharp, stinging pain was all she could think of. But once it had faded, it was replaced with a giddy sense of glee. One needed two hands to work a bow. That was a simple truth, a fact, and losing her arm had broken her heart knowing that she would never be able to shoot again. Of course, she should have known not to put anything past Dagna

There she was. Bow in hand, just as powerful as she’d always been. Just as powerful as she needed to be. 

The Commander, however, was not quite as excited. He approved of the weapon, though he was quick to jump on its faults. “This doesn’t mean a free ticket out of training, you know,” he said.

“Seriously?” she demanded.

“This is a nice weapon, but if something should happen to it, you’ll be left completely defenseless in a fight.”

“They’d have a hell of a hard time getting that close,” she mumbled beneath her breath, though she saw his point. Begrudgingly, she handed the gauntlet to a servant who ran it up to her room and replaced it with her old one. Though she wanted nothing more than to practice with her bow, she took up a sword again, and they were back to trying to beat each other to death with blunted blades. 

The mysterious assassin appeared not long after they started. He sat on a nearby barrel, one leg dangling off the edge as he peeled an orange with his fingernails. Sweat rolled down her back, and every time she cut a glance his way, she found that he was watching. Not even watching both of them. He was watching  _ her.  _ His amber eyes flitted up and down her body, even catching her gaze a couple times. He smirked when it happened.

After a long while of Cullen yet again embarrassing her in front of the entire Inquisition, the Antivan drew both of their gazes as he slid off the barrel. “You are too quick. And little. You do not have the strength to wield a sword and a shield.”

“Could either of you be more offensive about it?”

He sauntered over to them, hips swaying with every step. “You are a rogue, are you not? You have been trained to be fast and deadly. You are too small for such big weapons; you are agile and graceful and beautiful- Truly, I could go on,” he said as Ellana tried to hide her smile with a huff, pushing her blade into the soft earth.

“Skip to the part we’re interested in,” her Commander growled.

“At the insistence of your friend here: have you given thought to dual-wielding?”

Truth be told, it was a brilliant idea. Cullen was more begrudging than she was, though she knew he was just reluctant to admit that Zevran’s plan already sounded better than his. He bit into his orange, his golden eyes watching the Inquisitor before tossing the fruit aside.

“I could teach you, if you’d like.”

She nodded. “Alright. Let’s begin.”

He laughed. “Ah,  _ eager _ aren’t you? No, no, it is not so simple. The way of the assassin is an art, not something that can be clumsily learned in a few days. I would not have you shame it.”

“ _ Shame  _ it —”

He swooped between her and Cullen, taking her by the elbow and leading her away. “I mean no offense, Lady Herald.” He dropped his head close enough to her face that she could feel his warm breath pool against her cheek and neck. “You could make simply standing look beautiful. I meant only that it takes practice, and you must excel at a number of other things before you are ready to finally tackle the art.”

He smelled of leather and strange, exotic spices. She tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted, almost nervously. The idea was so foreign to her that it was near laughable: her,  _ nervous, _ over a man. But there she was, pulling away from his grip and hoping that he mistook the flush in her cheeks as being from the sun. 

“What other things?”

“They cannot be rushed,” he warned. He clapped his hands behind his back. Each of his movements was over exaggerated, oozing with confidence.

“We don’t have much time to begin with,” she pointed out. He raised his eyebrows, and she sighed as she raised her hand in a defeated gesture.

“Excellent,” he said, with a grin that could only be his most charming. She knew that that disarming smile had melted many hearts. “I will meet you at sunrise.”

Just like that, her momentary infatuation was gone. “ _ Sunrise _ ? Why can’t we start today? Now, preferably.”

He narrowed his eyes in a mock-warning look, managing to coax a small smile from the girl. “That is a much better look on you, truly.”

Sunrise found the elf again in the courtyard. She lounged on the same barrel Zevran had sat on the previous day, yawning as the gentle pinks and oranges chased away the night’s stars.

Solas hadn’t been there last night. Despite all the conflicting ways she felt about him, it was still hard. It was harder, almost, not seeing him. Her dreams were her own: long and terrible, a string of demon-plagued nightmares that tormented her until she finally woke, drenched in cold sweat and chest tight with terror.

A hand slammed down over her mouth. She clawed at it, squirming and blindly fighting as she tried to get away. Another arm wrapped around her stomach like a vice and dragged her backwards, off the bucket. Aiming a kick at her attacker, she sank her teeth into the hand.

“Easy,” Zevran said into her ear, before letting out a hiss as she bit him. He let go, and she whirled on him. “You’re a feisty little minx, aren’t you?” he said with a grin that showed he’d probably enjoyed the bite.

“Are you  _ insane _ ?”

She went to shove him, but he caught her hand in his own. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chided. “An assassin must never be so caught up in their thoughts. You must always be aware of your surroundings.”

“And I suppose this is my first lesson?” she demanded. “How to scare the skin off half-asleep people?”

“My dearest Lady Herald, if I have offended you, I apologize a thousand times over.” He dipped into a ridiculous bow, topping it off by pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles before finally freeing her hand.

For a moment, the Inquisitor was speechless. All she could do was shake her head. She was hard-pressed to imagine anyone else treating her like this, what with her lofty title. People outside of her Inner Circle often walked on eggshells around her, as if she was a gaatlok barrel waiting to blow at the slightest provocation. 

He was either fearless or impossibly arrogant. Probably a little of both. Whatever it was, it was as infuriating as it was freeing. “Are you like this with everyone? Or just me?”

“Would you like it to be only you?” he shot back with a wicked grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you quite done? Can we begin?”

“As Your Worship desires. First, we run.”

Her expression deadpanned. “Run.”

“Is that too difficult a task for the mighty Inquisitor?”

With a scoff, she jogged towards the gate. The guards raised it just high enough for the pair to slip underneath. As soon as they were out, the assassin took off. He was far faster than she expected, and even with the advantage of her long legs, she couldn’t pass him. She hovered on his heels as they cut through the forest paths around the fortress, falling further behind as their run stretched on and on and on.

By the time they returned, the sun was well in the sky and sweat had drenched her tunic. Her face was flushed, and she doubled over as soon as they’d stopped their mad sprint, gasping for air.

Zevran  _ tsk _ -ed between his own pants. “It is as I expected. You are sadly out of shape, Lady Herald.”

“Or you’re trying to kill me.” She clutched at her chest and pantomimed to a nearby recruit to bring her some water. 

He grinned. “There are easier ways, trust me.”

The soldier brought them both water, and after they drank, Zevran asked, “Are you ready for the next part?” She groaned. “Unless, of course, you find yourself unable to deal with the grueling demands of becoming an assassin.”

Her eyes narrowed at the blatant challenge. “What’s next?”

He led her past the merchant’s stand and into the large yard near the stables. Thom Rainier was drilling some of the soldiers and shot the two of them a strange, questioning look. 

“Now, we stretch.”

“Is this how the Crows trained you?”

He laughed. She liked his laugh; it was husky and infectious. “My training was not so pleasant, by half.”

He sank to the ground and crossed his legs. She copied him. “What was your training like, then?”

“Parts were like this, I suppose.” He reached for his feet, and she did the same. “Except far more… grueling, as it were. Life and death hanging in the balance and all that.”

“What do you mean?” She stretched out for her other foot, her fingers curling over her bare toes with ease. He moved just as fluidly, nose touching his knee.

“You do ask a lot of questions.” He narrowed his eyes as he readjusted himself so that his legs stuck out opposite each other. “Ah, I know what you are doing. You are interested, no? You know, a woman as beautiful as you need only ask. What is a man to do but obey your beck and call?”

“Would you  _ stop that _ ?” She dug her hand into the ground, tossing a clump of grass and dirt his way. He ducked to avoid it, and she said with a small smile, “I just wanted to know.” She copied him before laying her chest flat on the ground. She cupped her chin and met his gaze.

“Truly, Lady Herald, you are a woman after mine own heart. Beautiful  _ and  _ bendy; are you sure you are not a crow?”

“No, fortunately. I hear they’re dropping like flies nowadays.”

He laughed at that as well, jumping back up to his feet. She mimicked his strange and elaborate pose; a hand held her foot as it curled behind her back. “Not quite,” he said, and he was at her side.

One hand pressed against the curve of her back, the other cupping around her stomach. Her breath hitched from the sudden touch, and a blush crept all the way up to her ears. “There should be no tension here.”

His hand was gone before she could tell him to move it. She let out a little breath, forcing herself to relax. Hopefully, she’d dispelled the tension. He pushed her knee a little higher, readjusted the grip on her leg, pressed her back further down.

As his hand flitted all over her body, she felt her heart lurching in her chest. Everywhere he touched tingled. It shouldn’t, and she didn’t know why, but it did. Was she that desperate for someone? That the first person who was even mildly interested in her - and not her title - in years should be able to get such a rise out of her? It was foolish, childish even- he flirted with  _ everyone _ . She’d already seen that. Besides, she was still in love with Solas.

Regardless. He was attractive, and he was interested. As he stepped back, she let go of her leg and turned on him. “I hate to ruin the mood, but what does all this have to do with fighting? We don’t have much time—”

“This cannot be rushed. This is not something that is learned in a day; you pick up daggers and suddenly you are an assassin. No. You must work at it, chip away at all the little things until you are ready.”

Her scarred eyebrow arched. “That’s great, but we don’t have  _ time _ for all the little things. I have been fighting for years now, you know. I can run, and I’m flexible. I just need to know how to fight.”

“When is an archer most deadly?” She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to question him, but he cut her off. “Truly.”

“When they have a bow? And arrows?”

“Exactly.” He stepped toward her. “And when is a warrior most deadly?”

“With a sword and shield. I don’t see—”

“The assassin is different. There is never a time when they are most deadly because they are  _ always _ deadly, and for an assassin to be always deadly, they must always be prepared. The Crows used to always say that the only safe assassin is a dead one, and this is true. I could kill you here, as you stand, as easily as I could if I had my daggers.”

Arrogant, then. But he was right. There was something about him, something under the glib and flirty remarks, something that hovered just under the surface. Something dangerous. She knew he was right: no one dismantles an entire assassin’s guild on luck alone. He had slipped past Leliana’s agents and Cullen’s soldiers to catch her in the middle of Skyhold. He was definitely good.

“Not easily.”

He grinned. “Perhaps not.”

She sighed and said, “Ma nuvenin.”

Where she expected a triumphant smirk, she was only met with a strange expression. “I do not speak your language,” he said, coolly. 

“Oh,” she said, simply, surprised at his sudden change. “Sorry. I just said as you wish.”

And just like that, he was back to his usual self, as if he hadn’t just stared her down seconds ago. Perhaps he thought she would go into a pro-Dalish spiel. Whatever it had been, it passed. “We should get back to stretching, no? ‘We don’t have much time’,” he said, his voice high-pitched and nasally as he mimicked her. She smiled at that, pushing his shoulder as he showed her another strange pose to copy. 

Late that night found the Inquisitor on the battlements, practicing with her new bow. Arrow after arrow thudded into the target. Each thrum of the bow reverberated up the stump of her arm, setting her teeth on edge. At first it was just a nuisance, an unpleasant experience that could be ignored, but after so many times it was starting to wear on her.

Before, she could hit bullseyes five, ten, twenty paces past the rest of the archers. Now she was struggling to hit it five paces in. Gritting her teeth, she continued.

Her fingers slipped on an arrow, and the bolt flew wildly past the target. The jolt slammed up her arm, jarring her jaw. Holding back a string of curses, she shook out her arm and walked a few paces away as she waited for the stinging sensation to pass.

She noticed Althea as she turned. The Dalish elf stood a few steps away, the bottom of her pale gown stained with dirt. Her throat tightened. She knew exactly what she’d come for. She tried to chase the reluctance that no doubt flickered across her face with a smile.

“You are still rather good, considering. Before long you shall be back to being the best archer I know. Don’t tell Varric.”

“He knows he’s hopeless against me,” Ellana joked. She strung another arrow and let it fly. It missed. She cursed under her breath, shaking out her arm. The stump was starting to throb now, and she wondered if it might harm her later if she continued. Of course, there would be no stopping in a fight. She needed to just work through the pain, as she always had.

“I do have… a question.”

Another arrow hissed through the air. The bow swung at her side as she slowly turned to face the elf.

“About Solas.” She bit her lip. 

It was a struggle to keep her voice low and steady. She didn’t want to betray any of her feelings about the situation. It was a delicate enough topic already, without her conflicting emotions bleeding out. The Dalish girl let out a sharp huff after Ellana told her all Solas had told her, like all the breath had been knocked out of her. She knew the feeling. Althea stared at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, and was quiet for a long time. Ellana waited.

“We were  _ wrong _ ,” she whispered. Devastated lavender eyes met hers. The tragedy swimming in them was all too familiar, stirring the remnants of the same agony she’d felt. Without the Creators, there was nothing. Just them, just the world that was around them.

“Yes.”

“Was he… Is he… kind?”

Ellana felt as if she’d been punched. She stared, speechless. Was he kind? She thought of his gentle touches, fingers ghosting against her jaw and down her arm. So painstakingly soft, like he feared she was a spirit that would disappear if he touched her too firmly. She thought of the way he freed her from her slave markings, how he left her in a sorry attempt to keep her from getting hurt. All the times he’d healed her, taking her arm just to give her more time even though she would die regardless… 

He wanted to destroy her world. He claimed that she changed his opinion about the people who lived in it, but he was far too judgmental for that to be entirely true. He still thought many of them no better than Tranquil. They were nothing to him. A sacrifice he was willing to make. Even her.

“In the long run, I suppose not.” Though it was true to some degree, the thought still sickened her. The others certainly believed it. And she could tell that they wanted her to feel the same way. They were prepared to stop him, no matter what it took.

But they could save him. She could. Without that hope, she had nothing. The elf in front of her was gentle and kind and saw the best in people. Maybe if she saw it too, if she only understood… “He was,” Ellana said. “Though sometime I wish he wasn’t. It would be easier if he weren’t.”

Althea smiled, though it was a broken, trembling thing. “Thank you, Inquisitor.” With that, she was gone, leaving Ellana with a hollow feeling in her gut. She stared after her, watching the bottom of her gown brush against the soft ground.

_ Stupid. _ She strung another arrow and let it loose, welcomed the pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, it's slow right now but in the next chapter/chapter after that it's gonna be really picking up so stay tuned!! thanks for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

One night after dinner, the Iron Bull’s lieutenant Krem blocked the way to the Inquisitor’s bedroom. “Sorry, Quiz,” he said, adopting the nickname that all the more rambunctious of Skyhold’s occupants called her, “but you’re coming to the Tavern. Chief’s orders.”

Bull appeared behind her then, clapping a heavy hand on her shoulder and blocking her escape. “That’s right boss. No sneaking away to your room tonight.”

They’d offered before. Several times in fact. But Ellana hadn’t been in a partying mood as of late, and as tempting as drinking away her sorrows, she needed to be in full control of herself. Just in case.

They meant well. Besides, she was feeling better than she had since the Council. Maybe they’d picked up on it and decided that tonight was the night they finally put their foot down. Whatever the reason, there was no denying a small part of her was relieved.

“Fine, but you’re buying.”

The Chargers cheered, and Sera punched Thom’s arm. “You owe me! Let’s get to the party.”

“Party?” Zevran repeated, jumping up from his seat. “I do love a good party; they always end with so many regrets.”

“Regrets?” Thom repeated with a snort, dubious.

“You are right,” the elf admitted with a grin. “There are no regrets. You could be one of my not-regrets, if you’d like.”

“Maker’s balls,” Thom muttered as he quickly shuffled out of the throne room. 

Ellana laughed as they made their way towards the tavern. She pulled Cullen, who hadn’t moved, to his feet. He started to protest, but she shook her head and tugged on his arm. “I’m not going alone.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes and put on a good show, but she caught him smiling out of the corner of her eye as they walked arm-in-arm to the tavern. Cabot groaned at the sight of them all pushing their way inside. The bartender was already pouring their drinks before Bull even had to knock on the bar. Krem said something to Maryden that made the singer’s cheeks turned a cherry red.

The Chargers pushed the tables together, and Bull snatched the Inquisitor down beside him. Barely managing to keep a hold on Cullen, the man had to squeeze into the seat on her other side. Sera banged her fist on the table across from them, shouting for one of the tavern workers to bring her a duck. How she was still able to eat after their very filling dinner was a mystery.

“Hey!” Iron Bull’s shout ripped through the Tavern. Fenris and Althea stood frozen, an almost sheepish expression dancing across their faces as they were caught sneaking to a table in the corner. “Where do you think you’re running off to? Get your asses over here!”

Althea smiled and led Fenris by the hand to the empty seats beside Thom. Cabot came then and clunked down huge flagons of ale.

“We’re sharing,” Ellana told Cullen, tapping the mouth of the flask. The last thing she needed was to wake up somewhere with a long list of regrets. And, unlike Zevran, they most definitely would be regrets. As Zevran squeezed in the nonexistent space between Althea and Thom right across from her, he winked at Ellana. Her stomach twisted, and she resisted the urge to down the flagon. No regrets.

“What is this?” Dorian’s voice came through the communicating crystal at her throat. “Did the raven bringing my invitation fly off course again?”

She snorted. “You aren’t missing out on anything.”

“Yes you are!” Sera shouted. Cullen just managed to pluck their drink out of the way before she could knock it over. “We’re gonna get  _ wasted _ !” She fell back in a fit of giggles, her head start at dinner already turning her ears red. 

“Kadan!” Bull leaned his face a little too close to Ellana’s chest to speak into the crystals. Althea clapped her hands over her mouth, scandalized, and Cullen choked on their ale. “Kadan, why aren’t you here?”

“Wish I could be, amatus, but I’ve things that must be attended to.”

Bull chuckled, readjusting himself so that his face was even closer. Ellana shut her eyes and angled her face towards the ceiling. Her hand drummed on the table as his breath warmed her chest. Everyone nearby was watching with various degrees of shock and chagrin and — in Zevran’s case — fascination. “Oh, the things I would do to you—”

“Oh—  _ Fenedhis lasa _ !” Ellana shoved Bull away as Cullen spat his drink out onto Fenris. Sera collapsed onto Thom, howling with laugher, and Krem pounded his fist on the table. Althea hid her face in Fenris’s shoulder and, despite wiping the ale on his face, even the broody elf was laughing. She snapped the lid on the crystal necklace, holding her palm to Bull’s forehead to keep the near-drooling Qunari away from her breasts.

“Ah, what a horrid woman!” the assassin said. “Standing in the way of true love; it’s criminal!”

Ellana plucked the flagon from Cullen’s grip and took a long gulp. The Chargers started to cheer, Krem shouting, “There she goes!” With all of them clapping and shouting, she drank half of it in one go.

Bad idea. 

Maryden started to sing. Her voice, though far from humble, was still hard to hear over the din their company was making. Krem tried to hush those nearest him, turning around so he could watch and offer a cute, sloppy wave whenever she looked his way. 

They listened in earnest as Sera told another one of her infamous 1Dagna’s Weapon Gone Wrong stories. Her hands flailed around, threatening to hit those closest to her. At one point, she nearly flipped over her plate in her urgency to act out the nobleman’s reaction.

The Commander suddenly stood. “Oh, don’t go!” Althea pleaded, but Cullen was already gone.

“Uh oh.” Ellana watched him meet Scout Harding in the doorway before slipping out of the tavern. “He’s got his broody look.”

“How do you know?” Althea whispered, leaning forward.

“He does this.” She pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows in her best imitation of Cullen’s serious expression. Althea grabbed at her stomach, laughing.

“Aw, are you doin’ Cullen’s serious face again?!” Sera demanded, pushing Thom back as she bullied her way into their conversation. “I’m  _ much _ better. Watch!” She scrunched up her face, though it did little to resemble the commander.

“You have to put more eyebrow into it,” Bull coached. The door to the tavern opened, slowly, and Cullen hesitated in the doorway. Her stomach twisted, and her happiness turned to ash as his eyes found hers. “Look, it’s like this.”

She stood. Her companions complained, Bull even grabbing her hand and trying to pull her back down. “C’mon, boss, we’re just gettin’ started!”

“Another time,” she promised, twisting out of his grip and meeting Cullen at the door. As they headed for the war room, Ellana tried to calm herself down. She knew she shouldn’t have gone drinking. She wanted to speak, but the words tangled in her mouth, tripping on each other.

Scout Harding was waiting for them, a letter curled in her hands. She looked equally grim as Cullen. They took their places around the table, Ellana silently steeling herself for what was coming.

“The elves…” Cullen began. “We thought it was just coincidence at first, but there’s too much proof.” She was silent, cold tendrils of dread wrapping around her heart. “It seems that elves are disappearing. We think they’re being recruited. By Solas.”

The Inquisitor was sinking. “How do you know?”

“Honestly, we don’t,” Harding admitted. “But where else would they be going?”

“What… What elves?” She was still here. So was Sera. And Althea and Zevran and…

“Alienages around Thedas are losing elves by the day. There are rumors of whole Dalish clans vanishing overnight.”

“Even some of ours.”

Her eyes snapped up to Cullen’s. Her elves too, now. He was taking  _ her _ people, her kin, the ones she had worked so hard to free. Now they were gone, stolen away right beneath her nose. Apparently her arm and her world and her heart weren’t enough for him. He had to take the Inquisition from her as well, piece by piece. “But  _ why _ ?” she demanded, gripping onto the edges of the cold table to steady herself. 

“Bringing down the Veil will release the Evanuris. Most likely, he is building an army.”

“But… he hates the Dalish.” He hated them, and yet he was going to make an army of them, of the city elves. He would send them to fight a war they would undoubtedly die in. He was going to sacrifice them, use them as means to an end.

The incredulousness of it was all too much. A laugh bubbled in her throat, overflowing and nearly choking her. It died almost as suddenly as it came, and she thought she might be carried away in the bitter rush of anger that followed.

“I don’t think he particularly cares for any of us,” Cullen said as gently as he could muster. “He’s willing to use whomever to achieve his goals.”

“He’s using  _ my people _ ,” she hissed. He was turning her own people against her, building a force with the very ones they’d once called lethallin. There was time when she thought they would never be taken from her. If all else failed, she still had her people, her lineage. But she was wrong. 

“We can talk more about it in the morning.” Harding paused near the door, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’m really sorry, Ellana.”

She avoided Cullen’s eyes and made her way from the room as well. He fell into step beside her as they squeezed out into the main hall. “Will you be alright?”

It seemed that some of her companions had followed their lead and given up the party as well. Fenris and Althea stumbled, laughing, down the hall that housed their room. Zevran flirted with a guard across the hall. She snorted at his question, fumbling at the buckles on her leather tunic even while she was in the throne room. “We’ll have to tell them tomorrow.”

“Let me.” He pushed her hand away and quickly undid the straps.

Her fingers were steady, as he was, and the ache in her chest needed that. “Stay with me,” she whispered, and his eyes softened.

“Of course,” he said and followed her into her room. They crawled into bed, and he threw the blankets over their bodies. Instinctively, like they had on so many daunting nights before, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her slender frame against him.

She buried her face against his side, and he rubbed a hand up and down her back as she trembled. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, trying to hold herself back, but Cullen felt a wet warmth against his skin regardless.

“He  _ hates _ them, how can they not see-”

“He’s lying to them. No doubt he’s telling them he has a way to bring back their glory and failing to mention just what’s at stake.”

“They’re  _ my people _ .”

“I know,” was all her Commander could offer her as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His fingers curled over her shoulder as he felt a flash of anger. How could Solas have ever claimed to love her, to care for her, and yet be the cause of so much pain? Cullen would  _ never  _ be able to hurt her, not half as badly as Solas had, and yet the elf was the one to supposedly have this unending, star-crossed love for the girl. 

“I hate him. I do.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. But Cullen just held her closer, silent and unwavering.

There was a whine and scratching at the door. Cullen groaned, and Ellana let out a short, sharp breath. She wiped at her cheeks before raising her head, smiling. “I’m not getting him.”

Before Cullen could respond, the door creaked open and shut again as some merciful agent let him in. Claws scrabbled against stone as the mabari shot up the stairs and jumped on the bed with enough force to slide it. Ellana laughed as the dog nuzzled up between them, sticking his nose in the gap between her chest and his side. 

“This whole bed and you choose to lay here,” Cullen said.

“Selfish mutt,” she scolded, though she pressed a kiss above the pup’s dark eyes. She scowled and gagged, covering her mouth and nose with a hand. “Creators, he smells  _ awful _ .”

“He’s a warhound, what do you expect? Good boy.”

She shoved him, and he laughed as she repositioned herself around the dog. He angled his head towards them, her dark hair bunched against his forehead. It was quiet for a moment.

The mabari yawned, and it was Cullen’s turn to gag. “Maker’s  _ breath _ -”

“He’s a warhound,” Ellana mimicked in a deep voice. “What do you expect?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Cullen demanded, and her laugh once again filled the room, before he could even finish speaking. The dog licked her nose, and the three of them fell silent.

Ellana laid awake, long after Cullen had fallen asleep. The pup snored loud enough for the both of them and occasionally the great beast would twitch or whine. Did dogs dream in the Fade as well?

Sleep did not come as easily to her, but in truth, she didn’t want to sleep. If she slept, she ran the risk of seeing him. And after their revelation… She was furious and distraught, and as much as she wanted to thrash some kind of explanation out of him, she was more likely to give something important away.

All she managed was an uneasy doze, never fully falling asleep. She drifted in and out of consciousness with memories of strange and haunting dreams that weren’t quite dreams and didn’t seem real. She imagined talking to a few different elves, of a demon, and maybe a wolf with many eyes.

When she finally gave up on the thought of sleep, she made her way out to the battlements just before dawn. She’d thought she would be alone, at least for a few more hours, but she was proven wrong when Zevran appeared.

Never the one to pass up an opportunity, not much longer Ellana found herself training. The muscles in her legs and arms were starting to cramp up. “How long must I sit here?”

Zevran leaned against the wall, a lazy smirk spread across his lips. He busied himself flipping a coin. “Surely you are not already tired; we have not been at this long at all.”

She was starting to regret leaving Cullen to his fitful dreams; just laying there was surely better than this. She scowled at the knife resting in her palms, wishing she could rest her elbows against her knees. “What does this teach me again?”

He clucked his tongue at her. “If I have to tell you, then you are clearly missing the lesson.”

The door to one of the guard towers swung open, and Alyaise sighed at the sight. “There you are.” She clutched a stack of papers to her chest. “I’ve been looking all over for you, there’s so much that needs to be done!”

“And who is this marvelous creature?” the assassin asked, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops with a wicked grin. Alyaise cut a glance towards him, her cheeks darkening. “Is everyone in your company so gorgeous, or is it all just happenstance?”

“This is Alyaise. She was a servant at Halamshiral, and I told her she could come work for me.” With Josephine gone back to Antiva, Alyaise had stepped in and taken over some of her duties. Having had been a servant to the Empress, she was more than aware of the careful machinations of the Game. And, to be truthful, she was far better at it than her or Cullen could ever hope to be. To Alyaise, Ellana said, “I’m training. Have Cullen take care of it.”

Alyaise raised a dark eyebrow. “I see that,” she stated in a way that poked fun at their methods. “Alas, I’m afraid that it requires your attention. I just need a few signatures.”

The Inquisitor sighed and handed Zevran his dagger back. Though he never looked away from her blushing diplomat-in-training, he sheathed the knife. Ellana purposely stepped between the two. “He’s trouble, you know,” she mumbled as she began to flip through the pages of paperwork.

“I like trouble,” she whispered back.

Ellana’s eyebrows raised. This was a side to the usually timid girl she certainly wasn’t used to. “What exactly am I signing?” she asked, pausing to glance back at the documents she’d already signed. 

“The usual nonsense from the nobility. One is your blessing on a marriage, a denial of a courtship, your grievances on a dutch’s death, et cetera.”

“Who wants my hand now?” With her ‘falling out’ with a certain apostate rebel god coming out into the light, there seemed to be a steady influx of noble families who were more than willing to give away their sons and daughters to wed her. It seemed that not even her race was enough to perturb the shems; the power she had was enough for them to overlook her pointy ears. 

“Baron Myre seems convinced that his son will garner your affections.”

Ellana sighed. “Shemlen.”

“Actually, Lord Myre is of the People. He gained a lordship through Empress Celene, at the Marquise Briala’s insistence.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is this son of his attractive?” Alyaise’s eyes widened, and Ellana shrugged, feeling Solas’s necklace move underneath her tunic. “I can’t be alone forever.”

She smirked and pulled the documents to her chest again. “Cullen has called an Inner Circle meeting. They’re waiting for you in the war room.” She nodded to Zevran before she left. “My lord.”

“If it is a suitor you seek, look no further,” he said once Alyaise was gone, bending into a ridiculous bow. He peeked up at her, grinning, and waggled his ears. “You will see I am of the People as well.”

She only smiled, and as they wandered down the battlements, he looped his arm with hers. Before she could pull away, he lowered his face to her cheek. “A word, if I may. How well do you know your diplomat?” When she didn’t have an answer for him, he continued, “You met her at the Winter Palace, did you not? With your Wolf.”

His implication made her skin crawl.

“It is of no fault of your own, and of course this is only a nagging suspicion. I suggest using someone you trust completely to handle your affairs.”

“Like who?” The guards on either side of the doors to the throne room nodded as they passed. Names of her companions whirled in her brain, and the thought of some of them becoming her Ambassador was humorous. But there was one who clearly came to mind, who would flourish with the title. 

“That is not my decision fortunately,” he said, and he pulled his arm from hers as he opened the door to Josephine’s old quarters. Hopefully, soon Althea’s quarters. He blocked the doorway and smirked. “You already know who.”

She had to squeeze past him, trying to hide the way her face heated up. “What will I tell Alyaise? If I push away people solely on suspicion, they will think me paranoid. It’s no way to inspire loyalty from my troops. I don’t want them to think I don’t trust them.”

“But you don’t,” he pointed out as they entered the war room.

Her Inner Circle stood crowded around the table, some clearly regretting the late night at the Tavern. Cullen narrowed his eyes at the two of them before announcing, “This will be all of us. Sera tried to shoot the messenger we sent.”

“Naturally.” Some of the others looked disappointed that they hadn’t thought of that as well. “This won’t take long.”

“Elves across Thedas are disappearing. Dalish clans, namely, but alienages grow smaller by the day,” the Commander explained. “We think Solas is raising an army.”

“For what?” Thom asked, rubbing an eye. 

“Bringing down the Veil will let the Evanuris out. No doubt he’s expecting war.”

“This could prove advantageous to us,” Zevran said. “We could send spies to infiltrate his ranks.”

“Like whom?” There was no one left that they could trust; they were either already publicly part of the Inquisition or gone.

“What of the Champion’s friend? The Dalish girl?” Cullen asked, looking to Fenris and Althea.

The latter shook her head, her long blonde hair pulled from her face in an elaborate braid. “She has not the heart for it. She is far too kind, and a terrible liar.”

“We’ve freed quite a few slaves. I know of a few who might suffice.”

Althea’s eyebrows rose in disbelief as she looked at her lover. “They’ve lived their whole lives as slaves, and now you wish to throw them back into danger as soon as they’ve tasted freedom?”

“It does not please me either, but this is the best option.” Fenris met Ellana and Cullen’s inquiring gazes with a brisk nod. Althea looked upset but said no more on the subject. “They live in the alienage in Kirkwall. I can send word if you could spare a raven.”

“That’s too risky,” Bull argued. “It can fall too easily into the wrong hands.”

“Then I will go,” he offered.

Zevran shook his head. “No, no. Surely, the Dread Wolf has eyes everywhere, especially watching the Inquisitor’s friends.”

“He’s right.” Cullen crossed his hands over the pommel of his sword, looking at Ellana. “We cannot be seen speaking with them.”

“Can’t talk to them, can’t send a letter, can’t be seen with them.” Blackwall snorted. “Should be easy to get them to do what we want, then.”

“We’ll think of something,” the Inquisitor promised. She could tell the others were getting restless; the matter of the spies was something her, Cullen, and Zevran would riddle out on their own. “In the meantime, I want everyone to continue training. Althea, a word.”

The rest of them filtered out. “It’s come to my attention that my friend who has taken over most of Josephine’s duties may not be as trustworthy as I originally believed.”

Althea’s eyes widened. “Alyaise? You believe she could be a spy?”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath. “It makes sense. He was there when you recruited her, after all.”

“I need someone I can fully trust in that position. You would make an excellent fit, if you wouldn’t mind the work.”

She blushed, looking between the three of them, surprised. “I… Of course, Inquisitor. I would love to help. If you don’t mind, Fenris comes off grouchy at times, but he’s just as diplomatic as I am. And he’s incredibly intelligent, especially with Qunari and Tevene matters. He would be a great asset.”

“Of course. Thank you, lethallan.”

The elf hesitated on her way out the door. “If I may, Inquisitor… My clan… I am afraid that Solas will take them as well. If it is alright with you, I would like to bring them back here, where they will be safe.”

Her clan. It was impossible to forget but she had. She looked at the tattoos around her eye, a visible prayer to the goddess Sylaise. A liar. A sham. “Of course,” she said and forced a smile. “I will send guards with you.”

A relieved smile spread across the healer’s face, and she templed her hands together. “Ma serannas. We will not be gone long.”

“I’ll have your party ready by noon.” Althea nodded and left the Inquisitor with her remaining two advisors.

“Are you sure it’s wise to put an ex-Tevinter slave as one half of your ambassadors?” Dorian questioned from the crystal. “He might harbor a grudge. Or something.”

“At least he won’t put up with their shit.”

“Scout Harding left at dawn,” Cullen stated. “She’ll send word once she arrives at Mythal’s temple. We’ve established two new Red Jenny contacts in Minrathous and one in Nevarra, and all of them have sent reports though nothing substantial. It seems that the Qunari have not yet made any sign of attacking.”

“Yet,” she mumbled, eyeing the northern country with mistrust. Only a month had passed since the attack on the Winter Palace, granted, but she wondered how much longer before the Qunari swept across Tevinter.

“I have heard from a friend of mine, the Antivan pirate the Champion befriended as well,” Zevran stated. “She will not officially join us — something about it being bad for business, and health — but she has agreed to keep her eyes and ears open for her dear old friend.”

“That’s good,” Cullen said, though it looked almost as if it pained him to say so. “We need more contacts in the coastal cities, particularly those in Rivain.” He tapped his leather fingers on the map. “Perhaps your friend might be convinced to even sail further North, near Par Vollen.”

“She has no such death wish.”

“I suspected as much. I can prepare an envoy of soldiers to send with Althea.”

“You can help me. We can’t just send humans; they’re Dalish.”

Cullen grimaced, and she prepared herself for what he was about to say; he only wore such an expression when he was about to bring up a point they would no doubt disagree on. “Would that be wise? If the elves turn on them-”

“We won’t send enough to overpower them.”

Zevran said, “We can send my agents. They are most trustworthy, I assure you.”

Ellana nodded towards the smirking elf, and Cullen relented. He hesitated as he glanced at Zevran. The tenseness in his shoulders lessened, and he shifted from the Commander of the Inquisition back to Cullen Rutherford, a friend. “I woke and you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Didn’t want to.

“I would have stayed up with you.”

He was far too kind; it twisted her heart. She just shook her head and offered him a meager smile, changing the subject back to Althea and Fenris’s small envoy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow there is so much more funny/fluffy things than i ever imagined and probably will ever write again. the action picks up next chapter big time!! thanks for reading (-:


	4. Chapter 4

After Fenris and Althea had been sent off, the Iron Bull, Thom Rainier, and Sera all but sheepishly approached Ellana Lavellan near the gates.

Restoring peace to Thedas was all they wanted, and it was nice to be here, but they felt like they were doing little and less. Each of them knew they could make a bigger impact out in the field. More eyes and ears that she could trust and all that. It was a good reason, noble and well-intended, but it did little to lessen the ache she felt watching them leave.

The hold seemed bigger without them. Daunting, almost. Like it had back in the few months before the Exalted Council, when it was just her and Cullen. Now they were back to that, except she was hellbent on hurrying Zevran’s assassin training along. Sitting around no longer was a viable option, but she couldn’t wield her daggers until she completed all his ridiculous tasks.

Of course, even something as simple as that was too much to ask for. There was a never ending list of things to be done, ranging from chaotic sprints outside the keep at dawn to pickpocketing civilians. Everything she “stole” she pickpocketed back to its rightful owner, with them being none the wiser that their possession had been lost at all.

Truth be told, his lessons were entertaining.  _ He _ certainly was entertaining. And charming. More often than not, seeing him turned out to be her predominant way of having fun as the days passed by. Harding and her scouts had found nothing at Mythal’s temple that alluded to the whereabouts of Mythal’s orb and changed course towards Tevinter. The artists that she had taken with her had returned with rough copies of the murals they’d found. Her, Zevran, Cullen, Dagna, and Dorian had pulled a few heroic all-nighters trying to sift through all the information in hopes that some would piece together. 

Leliana was more than upholding her promise to bring radical changes to the Chantry. By the time her third controversial law had been declared, many of the Inquisition’s soldiers and workers were angered. It would be a lie for Ellana to say that she didn’t secretly enjoy it. The Chantry was by far a too closeted and bigoted society, and seeing them forced into accepting others was humorous.

Dorian, with the help of his magister friend Maevaris Tilani, created the Lucerni, a group dedicated to the reshaping of Tevinter. It was ill timing, that much they and the Inquisitor agreed upon, with the Qunari beginning to harass some of Tevinter’s border towns. She listened in on his meetings with the Imperial Senate, sometimes, only daring to comment when they were alone.

The dreams still hadn’t gone away. It was the same one, nearly every night. She woke in a wood with him just a little bit away, watching. At first, she couldn’t speak without him leaving. But she quickly learned a loophole: if she spoke indirectly, as if she was talking to herself, he would stay. So the nights that she didn’t have horrific nightmares, she spent sitting cross-legged in the forest talking about stupid, idle things while he listened. And though she longed to tell him about Zevran’s quips and endless flirting and how patient Cullen always was with her, she held those things back.

Instead, she spoke only of the stuff he already knew. She talked about her childhood, about days spent riding in the aravel, about the time her and her best friend Ollivar had followed a human clan when they were supposed to be hunting and had scared them so badly that they believed the forest haunted and fled. She talked about the Inquisition, about things so personal that she otherwise would never have told him unless he asked. It took time but eventually she was even able to talk about them too. It hurt, and it no doubt hurt him, evident by the few times that he had actually left or woken her up to get out of listening.

The pain was trivial though to the hope that if she could just find the right story, recall the right memory, he would forget this insane plan of his.

Alas, it didn’t happen in the month that Fenris and Althea were gone.

The Inquisitor and her shadow sat on the thatched roof of one of the houses behind the castle. One leg was tucked to her chest, the other dangling over the edge. He sat beside her, flipping that coin of his absentmindedly. With the clouds hanging heavy over the sky, it looked more bronze than gold.

“An assassin must always be aware of his surroundings,” Zevran began. “Nothing must take you by surprise! And a good assassin knows about people simply by observing them.”

“Are you sure? That sounds an awful lot like spywork to me.”

“Assassins are simply spies with benefits,” he explained, and she gave a soft, mocking  _ ooh. _ “Take that man there.” He nodded towards a human who argued with a street peddler over the price of a few flowers. “What can you tell me about him?”

She squinted at the man. He wore a simple, tan tunic with brown breeches. The soles of his boots were trodden near into the dirt. There were bags under his eyes, and his sandy hair was unkempt. She shrugged. “He’s buying flowers for his wife?”

“That much is true. However,” he raised a finger, “it is naught for love. They are apology flowers, as it were. For the affair that he’s been having.”

Her incredulous snort interrupted him. “You can’t  _ possibly _ know that.”

The smirk he wore was every bit as cocky as he was. “It is true! Look at his finger. No ring, yes? But there is normally a ring. See the tan? No man removes his wedding band for one night. No, his wife does not please him in bed, so he must seeks his needs elsewhere. Little does he know, she might be more willing to please him if he did well at his job or even went to work. Instead, he spends his days drunk and his nights with this mystery woman.”

“And you got all that just from looking at him?”

“You do not believe me?”

She scoffed. “I could have pulled something out of my ass just as easily.”

“Your lack of faith hurts, Lady Herald. I am left with no choice but to prove it to you.” He flipped his coin into his pocket, sliding down the roof and dangling from the awning before dropping into the alley. She did the same, albeit more clumsily, following him to the street peddler. Adjusting the cloak so that it covered her gauntlet and the hood hid her auburn hair, she turned into just another bare-faced alienage elf that had taken refuge with the Inquisition.

“How much for the flowers, friend?” Zevran asked the merchant, drawing the men from their argument. 

“Four sovereigns.”

Zevran whistled, wrinkling his nose at the flowers in front of him. “ _ Four _ sovereigns? I assure you, serah, there is not one here worth half so much.”

“Wha’? Get lost, knife ear. Tryin’ to do business here.”

Anger flared in her chest as the merchant tried to wave them away. Zevran looked back at her with a wide smile, trying to sway her to not blow their cover. The merchant met her fiery gaze and shuffled his feet uncomfortably as Zevran flashed the peddler his coins. He handed the flowers over to the man.

He was sheepish but grateful. “Thank you. Times have been tough lately.”

“Tell me about it. Late night?”

The human snorted and said, “That’s a word for it. Those tavern wenches sure are good at their job.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows at her before leaning closer to the man. “Bit of friendly advice: you might want to put your ring back on before you give those to your wife.”

He gaped. His face flushed as red as the flowers he held, and her jaw all but dropped as he fished the ring from his pocket. “Thanks again,” he muttered, quickly shuffling away.

“You goin’ to pay for those or wha’?” the merchant snapped. Zevran tossed the sovereigns at his chest, and he cursed them both as he bent over to pick them up off the ground. While he wasn’t looking, the elf swiped a single large orange flower off the stand offered it to her, sweeping into a deep bow. She took it, and he was quick to escort them away, a hand on the small of her back hurrying her down the street.

“‘Ey— wai’ a minute!”

Her and Zevran took off then, sprinting into an alley as the merchant called for Inquisition guards. It was ridiculous for them to run; she need only tell the soldiers to leave them alone, but it was far more fun this way. Besides, Zevran had grabbed onto her arm and wasn’t about to stop or let go.

When they finally did stop, she leaned up against the side of the castle, laughing breathlessly. He laughed as well, putting his hands on his hips. “Now that was fun.”

She nodded, face flushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever stolen anything before,” she admitted, twirling the flower in her hands.

“Well, technically,  _ I  _ stole it.” He staggered back as she pushed his arm, his smile growing ever wider. “Truly, Lady Herald, you are far too noble for your own good. A man is naught but a boy ‘til he has stolen.”

Her eyebrows arched as she smelled the petals. “It’s good I’m no man, then.”

Ellana’s gaze slid past Zevran as Fenris strode towards them. She slipped out of the narrow space between Zevran and the wall, flower falling to her side as she met him halfway. “Fenris! How long have you been back? Where’s Althea?”

“We just returned,” he said. “Althea is past the gates her clan. It seems that they are… wary of you, to say the least.”

“How wary?”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, they refuse to come into the hold until you prove to them you’re not working for Fen’Harel.”

She laughed. It couldn’t be helped. The Dalish were insufferable more oft than not, and it would prove that this clan would be no better. “That should be simple enough. Would they like to see the document he signed saying that I am actively working against him?”

That got a chuckle from the dark-skinned elf. “It might work. It would be even better yet if he told them himself.”

Her eyes rolled, gaze ending on Zevran. “Of course, how silly of me. I’ll send word for him at once.”

“There they are!”

The three elves followed the sound, seeing the heavy-breathing merchant leading a band of guards. She angled towards them, and they stopped as soon as they recognized her. “Oh! Our apologies, Your Worship.”

All of it had been more than worth the trouble seeing the pure shock roll across the peddler’s face. “Y- Your-  _ Worship _ ? You mean,  _ she’s  _ the-”

“It’s quite alright,” she told the guards, and though she held the stolen flower in her hand, the guards escorted the man back to his stand. They even scolded him for being so careless with his accusations. Zevran was wearing the same grin as her when she turned back to them. “Alright, let’s meet these elves then.”

Fenris glanced at the assassin. “They want only to meet with you. They were adamant about that. Any more and I think they fear an attack.”

“This is all highly suspicious,” Zevran pointed out. “I like little and less of this. What if this is a trap? The Wolf may have already gotten to them.”

Fenris shrugged. “Althea does not seem to think so.”

He turned to her then. “You should not go alone. If they decide your proof is not enough, your fate will be sealed.”

Wouldn’t that be a way to go? After everything she’d faced- demons, darkspawn, would-be gods and real gods, it would be a Dalish clan, her own people, in the end. “And you would be enough to protect me? From an entire clan of Dalish hunters and warriors?”

“Lady Herald, I would protect you from the world if needed,” he said with his usual melodramatic flair. 

“Come then,” Ellana said, laughing, “but hide your weapons. Your presence alone will be enough to provoke them.”

They met the clan past the bridge, nestled in a field on the mountainside. Through the trees, they could see the elves sitting around the aravels. As soon as they spotted her and Zevran, the hunters and warriors leapt to their feet and pointed their weapons at them. Fenris slipped past without concern, returning to a wide-eyed Althea.

“Andaran atishan,” she greeted. “I’m Ellana, of clan Lavellan. This is my friend Zevran.”

“We heard your clan was wiped out,” one of the hunters said behind his bow. “Twisted shemlens with glowing red eyes took them unawares in the night. Didn’t leave any survivors.”

The memory was still raw, though it had been two years ago. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “You’re right.”

“Dalen.” The keeper shot the hunter a disapproving look and stepped forward. His eyes were hard on hers, flashing to Zevran before turning back to her. Distaste rippled across his expression. He was none too happy that she hadn’t obeyed his orders. “We would like to know what is going on. Clans have been disappearing all over Thedas without a trace. We’ve heard whispers of your involvement with the Dread Wolf. Has he tricked you too?”

“No. It is true, I was involved with him, but I did not know who he was at the time.” A breeze tugged at her hair, her tunic, his jawbone necklace shifting underneath. “Fen’Harel plans to destroy the world, and I plan to stop him. My friend Althea asked if she could bring you here for your own safety. If you do not trust me, that is fine; he will not harm you if you refuse to join him. But you will not refuse. He will lie and his honeyed words will twist your head around until his way seems as if it is the only way.”

“Prove you are not compromised,” another hunter spoke, this time one with dark skin and a terrible frown.

She pushed her cloak aside, revealing to the crowd the wooden arm strapped to her bandaged stump. “He took my hand the last time we met. Is that proof enough?”

The keeper seemed unhappy. After a moment, he sighed, and the elves lowered their weapons. “We will stay, but not for long.” He turned to Althea then, who was staring at him in distress. “Ir abelas, dalen, but the People should not be trapped within city walls. We should be free.”

“You are free,” Ellana reminded him, though their vallaslin said otherwise. “We are all free.”

“Your blood writing,” a woman said. “You claim to be Elven, but your face is bare.”

That gave the Dalish pause. There was no real way to explain outside of telling them the truth, and that was something she had wanted to spare them. Besides, they would most likely think her foolish. “Come. It will be raining soon.”

The clan came, wheeling their aravels across the bumpy paths. It felt far too familiar in a strange, haunting way, to be walking and surrounded by Dalish with halla weaving their way between them. Zevran left her side to marvel at it all. Althea walked beside a young girl, and Fenris found his way back to the Inquisitor.

“It was smart to bring Zevran. Reminding her keeper that he is not in charge here was wise, though it did not make him happy.”

“I’m glad he’s staying only a short while. I don’t think I trust him.”

“He certainly doesn’t trust you.” That much was true enough; she could feel the elves’ stares piercing her back. Only a few days.

That night found Ellana, Cullen, and Zevran all hovered around the war table. The only light came from the single candle flickering on the table, the wax sliding off onto the Anderfels. The room smelled of moss, and they could hear the pattering of rain on the roof.

“What’s the wasting disease?” Ellana asked.

Cullen narrowed his eyes and straightened up. “Why do you ask?”

“Althea’s sister has it. It’s not… contagious, is it?” It was a terrible thing to ask, but she was nervous nonetheless. The last thing they needed was an illness spreading through the keep.

“No, it’s not— Have you really never heard of it?”

“It is a common affliction,” Zevran added.

A flush rose in her cheeks. “I hardly had contact aside from the same dozen people for twenty-seven years, how would I have had?”

“Of course,” Cullen said, and a similar color spotted his face as well. “Sometimes I forget. You’re so…”

“Well-mannered? Civilized?”

Cullen’s face gleamed a bright red, and he cleared his throat into a gloved fist. “Forgive me, I—”

“You are a wicked woman to play with him so,” Zevran said.

“I still don’t know what it is.”

“Someone with the wasting disease slowly dies. They’re tired and eventually grow too weak to walk and talk and must be cared for by another. Death comes shortly after that.”

Her smile faded, replaced with a horrified grimace. Poor Althea. Her family had been lost to her as well, all in one fell swoop, and she wasn’t sure whether she preferred that to the slow torture of waiting for them to die.

She remembered how one of the hunters had carried her, the pain that rippled across the little girl’s face with every movement. They’d laid her down so gently and carefully on the bed, as if jarring her in the slightest would be enough to kill her. Althea had hovered around them as Ellana waited awkwardly in the doorway. 

No, it was better that it had been swift.

The muscles in her legs were starting to cramp up from standing for so long. She rubbed at her calf, noticing Zevran was flipping his coin again and Cullen pinching the bridge of his nose. Her and the Commander had spent the evening and well into the night trying to figure out a plan to hire Fenris’s friends without raising suspicion while going over reports, ciphering out what chaos Solas was responsible for versus what was mere chaos. Zevran had joined not long ago, claiming to have spent the majority of his time with Althea’s clan. Though he’d been with them for at least a few hours, he didn’t seem any less tired than he had when he joined.

Regardless, they had been at it too long for anymore good to come from it. “That’s enough for now. We need to rest.”

Cullen might have protested had he not been so exhausted. As it were, he agreed. She led them out of the room, bringing the candle so that it shed light through the dark castle. She bid them both a goodnight before retreating into her quarters.

Almost as soon as she’d gotten into her room, there was a knock at the door. “Inquisitor?” She groaned into a hand. “There’s an elf here, says he’s from that clan that came in today. Says it’s important and that it can’t wait.”

For a moment, she debated telling the messenger to send him away. It was so late, and she was so tired. But she knew that whatever he had to say was no doubt important. What other reason would he be bothering her so late in the night for? “Send him in.”

The door creaked open, and she waited for him at her desk, slipping Solas’s necklace into its box. His steps up the stairs were heavy and drug out, almost as if he were limping. She shut the lid and turned.

An elf had a knife pressed to the messenger’s throat. “Quiet,” he warned. The messenger’s hair was wild, his wide eyes staring at Ellana in terror. Blood trailed down his throat.

“Let him—”

“ _ Quiet _ !” the elf hissed, jerking forward. Her lips clamped shut as the messenger whimpered. The elf was Dalish, and she tried to recognize him from the clan. Surely she knew him, surely she had spoken to him at some point- but there was nothing. Nothing. She didn’t know him, how did she not know him?

He was nervous. Scared. Just as scared as the man he held hostage. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, curving down the lines of his vallaslin. It was dark green. Hers had been dark green.

Her gauntlet and bow lied on the couch, behind him. She might have tried it had he not been holding a hostage. One step and his throat would be slashed. The elf’s hand shook so violently it was a miracle he wasn’t already dead. 

“The nearest guards are posted at the entrance to the throne room,” she whispered. “They will not hear us. You can let him go.”

“So he can go get them?” The elf laughed, though it was a thin, stressed one. He swayed back and forth, bouncing on his feet, as if he couldn’t stay still. “I’m no fool, Inquisitor.”

“Neither am I.” Her teeth clattered so loudly she was sure he would hear. Without her bow, she was completely powerless. She wasn’t strong like Cullen; her strength was more the scrappy kind. She hadn’t the strength to face him, and that left her with naught but one option. “I only have one arm and no weapons. I’ll be dead before they can reach me.”

“You will be. You’ll be dead alright. Dead.”

His eyes flittered around the room, lightning fast, as if he was expecting something to morph from the shadows.

“What are you so afraid of?”

“ _ Sh _ —” He shut his eyes for a second, and the messenger squirmed as the blade pressed tighter against his throat. Ellana slid forward, inching closer, stopping when he reopened his eyes. They were watery. “Just… stop. Stop.”

“You have got to be the worst assassin I have ever seen.” Her contemptuous snort got caught on the lump in her throat, causing it to come out far more strangled than she intended. It still worked; the elf’s eyes flashed, and his jaw clenched. 

“I’m not— I’m  _ not _ an assassin, I’m a s-spy. I wasn’t, wasn’t supposed to  _ be here _ , but that elf  _ bitch _ brought us back—”

She almost preferred an assassin. At least they weren’t completely insane. This man was something else entirely, and it scared her wondering what he was going to do next. If she charged… No, he’d slit the messenger’s throat instinctively.

“I won’t just die on my own, you know. You’re going to have to come over here and do it.”

“Shut up!” he snapped. “Just… Just stop  _ talking _ .” He shut his eyes again, and Ellana glanced at the messenger. The knife lifted from his throat, twirling in the air, as if the elf was thinking or writing or some other thing but  _ now was his chance.  _

He understood as well, and a sharp elbow thrust into the elf’s ribcage sent him stumbling back. He turned, reaching, as Ellana ran forward. The elf kicked the messenger in his groin, knocking him down, and flung a hand towards her.

She sidestepped but still the blade cut across her side with a sharp, piercing pain. Blood dripped down her waist, hot and sticky, and the elf was almost on her again. She raised an arm, hoping to stop his vicious attack, but the messenger grabbed him around the waist and tackled him to the ground. 

His knife clattered away, sliding across the cobblestone floor. Remembering then that there were others in the castle, people who could help, she shouted as loud as she could manage. She snatched up the blade, just in time to hear the messenger let out a soft breath. He slid off the elf, onto his back, dazed.

The elf threw himself at her, reckless and without any form of restraint, and she swung the knife at him. He parried, snatching her wrist and yanking her close. There was no way to stop the dagger coming towards her stomach. Instead, she kicked his knee so hard that he let go of her wrist. He staggered, his hand shook, and the blade ripped open her thigh instead. 

For a second, she was blinded with pain. She cried out, stumbling backwards and away, as blood washed down her thigh. The foot of her bed pressed against the back of her knees, and she sat heavily down on the mattress. 

As she stood again, the elf’s knees buckled underneath him. He let out a shout as he fell, a dagger buried to the hilt in his thigh. She looked and, sure enough, there was Zevran. “Ah, look Lady Herald. You have a fan!”

“Why do I always get the crazy ones?” The dagger slid from her fingers, sticky with blood, and she limped over to the messenger. He sat up as she dropped beside him, fingers pressing the bruise blossoming across his forehead. He winced when she touched it but, other than that, he seemed fine.

She glanced back at Zevran, who was crouched in front of the man. He held the point of a blade to the elf’s throat, narrowed eyes watching his expression.

“Don’t,” Ellana warned. He furrowed his brow, and she said, “He’s working for Solas.”

He scoffed and stood. “This wolf of yours must be getting desperate.”

She tried to let out a scornful laugh, but even that much was too hard. It got tangled in her throat, coming out far too mangled to resemble much of anything. He couldn’t have. He  _ wouldn’t.  _

Zevran had to help her to her feet. Blood welled up hot between her fingers as she cupped the slash on her waist. “You there, you are not harmed?” The messenger shook his head. “Fetch a healer. A mage, preferably. Tell them to hurry.” The messenger left, and Zevran half-carried her over to the bed. “You, sit.”

She eased herself down on the edge of the mattress. Zevran ripped open her breeches, exposing her pale and bleeding thigh. He did the same with her tunic, tearing off the entire drenched bottom half. “Usually I make a man buy me a drink first,” she said.

Zevran’s chuckle was deep and throaty. “I must admit, I am disappointed. I half hoped that you had summoned the elf to warm your bed.”

She might have smiled had she not been watching the would-be assassin on the ground. He was crying, letting out a muffled shout as he pulled the knife from his leg. Warning Zevran was pointless; the assassin was already on his feet, easily snatching the blade back. “Alas, I should have known better than to have such high hopes.”

“‘S not impossible.”  _ Keep talking,  _ she wanted to say. Anything to keep her mind off it, off the fact that Solas might possibly have sent an assassin after her.

“Are you sure you do not wish him dead?” Tearing off the bottom of his own tunic, he crouched in front of her. He bundled up the fabric and pressed it against the wound on her waist, his other hand on her not-wounded leg. His amber eyes were so dark and calm. How could he be? Solas was trying to kill her, and he acted as if it were just another day. A smirk played at his lips. “I could go slow, if that is your desire. The pace is completely up to you.”

Was he still talking about killing? Or was he talking about sex? Those two went hand-in-hand for him. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He was gorgeous, and suave, and charming **—** but why  _ wouldn’t _ Solas send an assassin after her? She was his biggest threat, the only one who might have a chance at stopping him. Getting her out of the way early was advantageous, smart even. Once she was gone, there was no one left. Except maybe the Hero, but no one knew where she was. He already took her arm, he already—

Zevran’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Had she spoken out loud? She clamped her jaw, swallowed the lump in her throat. Her side and her thigh  _ burned _ , and it was all because of him. Black spotted across her vision, and she felt Zevran’s fingers squeezing her thigh.

“Stay with me, Herald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay,,, but tell me zev and ellana aren't the cutest. i freaking love them omg im so invested


	5. Chapter 5

The night was quickly turning into one of Ellana Lavellan’s worst, which was…. really saying something. As she sat on the bed, fighting unconsciousness, slowly bleeding out, she thought about Solas. She thought about him and his lies and how blue his eyes were compared to the yellow of Zevran’s. His were gold, like his coin. Why did he keep that coin?

The door busted open then, and metallic clanking followed by claws scrabbling filled the room as someone charged up the stairs. “Ellana?” Cullen paused for a second, taking in the scene with huge eyes, before quickly coming to her side. Zevran stood and stepped back while the messenger, two guards, Cullen’s mabari hound, and a healer came into the room as well.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered as he peeled her hand away and saw the tear in her side. He waved the healer over and turned to the spy-assassin. The guards held him between them, and the mabari’s whole body shook as he growled at the attacker. Cullen grabbed him by his hair, yanking his head back. “Who sent you?”

Ellana winced as the healer placed her hands on the gash. The familiar healing warmth began to radiate from her fingers, spreading under her skin and through the aching muscles as her body repaired itself. She sighed.

The elf spat blood in Cullen’s face, and the guards snatched him back. One landed a vicious punch to his jaw, the other in his stomach. He cried out, and Ellana’s voice was harsh but unyielding. “Cullen.”

“Are you jok—” He turned to her, utterly exasperated, before sighing and thrusting an arm in the guards’ general direction. “Take him to the dungeon. One of you wake Charter, but for Andraste’s sake,  _ don’t leave him alone. _ ”

The room seemed to grow larger as they left. “He got you good, didn’t he?” the healer chirped. All she received was a strange look from the Inquisitor in response.

“Solas is sending  _ assassins _ after you now?” Cullen was pacing. “After everything he’s done, why wait to kill you until now? There were a thousand other easier chances to take your life, and yet he waits until the odds are not in his favor.”

“Maybe he means only to send a message.” Zevran perched on the edge of her desk. He rolled the flower they stole earlier that day between his fingers; he must have seen it amongst all the papers. “To scare you.”

Cullen paused a step, waiting a heartbeat for some response. Instead, she was focused on the healer shifting her steady hands to her thigh. A hiss escaped her throat as the fingers clamped around her skin, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling. He resumed pacing, armor clinking with every step. “This was not well thought out. Solas is too intelligent for this; we have no shortage of enemies—”

“He was Solas’s.” She twisted to examine the wound. Only a thin, white scar was left to show that there had ever been a cut. Her fingers probed the area and winced. Still sore. The healer tapped her hand away with a curt warning.

“What else did he say?” Cullen asked.

“That he was a spy, not an assassin, and he was never supposed to be here. Someone brought him here. An elf.”

“Althea,” Zevran answered. Cullen began to protest, but he held up a hand. “She did not mean to. He snuck into the clan, most likely to recruit them to the Dread Wolf’s army.”

Cullen let out a ragged sigh. “That still does not explain why he attacked.”

The healer rose to her feet. Ellana thanked her, waiting until she had left the three of them alone before examining the scratch on her leg. It was nearly invisible with her freckles, a pale and thin line arcing its way down her skin.

“He was desperate. And scared.”

“Surely he knew that he would not be able to hide for long. Striking first was the best option he could come up with, even if it meant certain death.”

“No,” Ellana reprimanded, meeting Zevran’s gaze. “He has information. He may even know where Solas is. No one is killing him.”

The elf nodded, slipping the coin back into his pocket as he stood. “As you wish, Herald.”

He left her and Cullen alone. He let out another heavy breath, stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

She experimentally put weight on her injured leg. It was sore, sure, but it was fine otherwise. Magic was still strange to her, even after all these years. Ellana Lavellan was no stranger to injury, but she was more accustomed to the quick fixes that her and the fellow hunters had come up with. There weren’t many healers that could be stumbled upon in the forest. 

“He didn’t send him.”

“He didn’t,” Cullen agreed, and Ellana ran a shaking hand over her face. A laugh bubbled in her constricted chest, choking on the lump in her throat. Her hand hid her expression as she sat back down on the bed. He didn’t. He wouldn’t have her killed; he’d promised. Cullen’s pup pushed his head onto her lap, and she scratched behind his ear. 

“He’s going to kill me anyways,” she found herself whispering without warrant. If it wasn’t this spy, then it could be the next, or the one after that. He’d promised her peace, a few years of quiet, but regardless, this story ended with her death. 

“He’s going to kill all of us,” Cullen reminded. 

She met his gaze. There was strength there, the strength that she needed. Once upon a time, she hadn’t needed to rely on anyone for it. She’d been strong enough on her own. A spy-turned-assassin wouldn’t have phased her. But now that it was  _ him _ she was fighting, everything changed. She wasn’t strong enough on her own. 

“I promise you: this will never happen again,” he swore. “You’ll have guards with you everywhere you go. You’ll be safe.”

All she gave him in response was a weary nod. She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles, once again standing. “I need to sleep.”

“Of course.” Cullen headed for the door, shooing the pup back into the room, to guard her no doubt. He paused at the top of the stairs. His expression was torn, like he wanted to say something, but she was already slipping under her covers. He left.

Solas was going to be the death of her. Whether it was intentional or accidental, either way she was going to end up dead and the blame will only be pinned to him. She drew the blanket up around her trembling shoulders, chills running up and down her spine. How did this happen? Where had the years gone, when did it come to this?

Just yesterday she’d been surrounded by friends, harbored as a hero, hunting down Corypheus. Now what was she? She was missing an arm; she couldn’t protect her followers. Her messenger was proof enough of that. He’d needed the  _ Inquisitor,  _ he’d needed Ellana Lavellan, the two-handed, sure-footed woman that had saved Thedas from possibly the biggest threat it had ever faced. Instead, he got her. 

Now they faced something even worse, and she was all but powerless against it. Her Inquisition was riddled with deceit and corruption, and those who were loyal surely doubted her. She was in love with the enemy. She’d had her chance to kill him, and even though Cullen and Dorian promised her that it wasn’t her fault, she had a hard time believing it.

This was big. Bigger than her, bigger than the Inquisition, bigger than all of them. Thedas needed a hero the likes it had never seen before, and if it was going to be her, she needed to change. She needed to be stronger and better than all the rest. Strong enough to talk down a god.

There was a sound. Ellana flipped onto her back, heart racing. It took her a long moment of squinting at the dark before she realized that it had just been the pup readjusting on the ground. She took a dagger out of the chest in her closet, slipping back into bed with her hand clenched tight around the hilt.  _ Ridiculous, _ she told herself.  _ Scared of shadows now. _

A knock at the door caused her heart to leap into her throat. Muscles tensed for a fight, she sat still for a few heartbeats. “Inquisitor,” a woman called through the heavy wood, “the spymaster wishes to speak with you in the dungeons. He said it was urgent.”

Part of her didn’t want to go. What happened if she opened that door and there was another assassin? Another part of her, the larger part, scolded her for her cowardice. She would not spend her days jumping at every sound, fearing death around every corner. So she tossed the quilt aside, fumbling her way into a new pair of clothes and fastening a cloak around her shoulders.

The messenger stepped back when she emerged. The guards who had followed Cullen into her room flanked either side of her door. Her new entourage, she assumed. They followed silently as she stepped out of the castle and into the cold. She bid them stay outside of the dungeon, making the long descent in silence.

As soon as she came into sight, the prisoners that were awake leapt to the bars. They shouted all sorts of things, ranging from insults to pleas, but she ignored them. The further she went, the colder it became. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to shiver under her cloak. It seemed that despite the years she’d spent here, she would never get used to the Ferelden weather. And it wasn’t even winter yet.

As soon as she stepped into the small room separated from the rest of the jail, she knew what had happened. “No,” she said, lunging at the elf and kneeling in front of him. She cupped his face, slapping at his cheeks, desperately hoping that this was  _ wrong. _ But there was nothing that could be done to take back the angry red line slashed across his throat.

“Who did this?” she demanded, looking up between Zevran and Charter.

“At a guess? Another spy,” Zevran answered with a shrug. He was as untroubled by this as he was everything else, and it was infuriating. Did he not understand what was at stake?

“How?” she growled. She stood then, and Charter shuffled her feet under her fierce gaze. “Someone was supposed to be with him at all times.”

Zevran nodded his head towards the side of the room. “Someone was.” A guard sat slumped against the wall, and she let out a heavy breath, covering her face with her hand. “My thought is this: the Wolf got another spy to slit this one’s throat before we could make him spill those juicy secrets of his.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Ellana snapped. The spy was their chance to find Solas. He’d been right there in her grasp, and she’d lost him, and an innocent man had died in the exchange. “A guard has been murdered.”

“Forgive me, Lady Herald, for my futile attempts to make light of the situation. It shall not happen again.”

He was about as sorry as the dead elf was. She held her tongue, though, rubbing her bloody hand dry on her breeches. “What do you want us to do?” Charter asked. “We can keep this quiet. Might be for the best. People’ll get nervous if they know a murderer’s running around.”

“But what of the guard?”

“Send our condolences to the family. Tell them he died in battle. Sneak him somewhere he won’t be found.”

“No.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He deserves a funeral, not to be stuffed away in a broom closet.”

“They could have killed each other,” Zevran offered. “Each managed to slip in the killing blow before they died. Then he could have his funeral and this matter be put to rest.”

“Good. I’ll let Cullen know in the morning. In the meantime, get someone to take his body to the Chantry. The priestesses will prepare him.” She returned to her chambers, the guards clanking with every step behind her. It was strange to be followed, a little smothering, but it did not lack a certain degree of comfort. At least if there was to be another attempt, the assassin would have to put up quite the fight.

She never fully fell asleep for the last few hours of the night. Restless, she tossed and turned, and she wasn’t sure if the wolf that drifted in her consciousness was him or just her imagination. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Regardless, she was awake to watch the sunlight finally filter in through her windows.

Her crystal was glowing. She opened the pendant. “Ellana? Are you awake? I sure hope so, otherwise this will definitely have woken you.”

She sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “I’m awake.”

“Splendid!” Dorian chirped. “There’s someone here who wants to-”

“Hey boss!” Iron Bull’s voice roared through the crystals.

In the background, Dorian hissed, “ _ Kaffas, _ not so close.”

“Oh.” He got quieter, and Ellana rubbed her temple with a knuckle, hoping to ease the throb in her head. “Sorry. But it’s me!”

“You’re in Tevinter? Don’t you think that’s exactly the place you should be avoiding?” The Qunari were on the brink of full-scale war against Tevinter. Several border villages had been put to the torch. Needless to say, for the time being it was dangerous to have horns up north.

“We’re in a little town on the border,” Dorian answered.

“I’m glad,” she said. “How’s restoring peace to Thedas going?”

“Pretty damn good! Near lost count of how many Vents we’ve killed.”

“You have not,” Dorian said.

“You’re right. We’re at thirty-one!”

Ellana rubbed her eyes and slid out from the bed. She began to struggle into new clothes, wadding up the bloody breeches and tossing them aside for the servants to clean later. “Is everything alright?” Dorian asked when the silence had stretched out for more than a few heartbeats.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” She wanted to tell him, but it didn’t seem fair to ruin his morning with Bull. She could tell him later, when he was alone.

“You’re a terrible liar, Ellana. Always have been. What is it?”

She signed. “Stress. This Solas business isn’t exactly the most fun thing in the world.” She fastened her cloak at her shoulder with a brooch that resembled the Inquisition eye. Cassandra had given it to her as a going-away present, before she disappeared to help rebuild the Seekers. A glance in the mirror showed what she already knew: her face was gaunt, and the bags under her eyes refused to go away.

“You should take a day off,” he suggested as she made her way out into the throne room. The guards posted outside the door followed her, hiding their yawns. “Thedas will survive without the Inquisitor for just one day. Two might be pushing it, but what’s the worst that could happen?”

She could only laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

* * *

 

Zevran was nowhere to be found.

It seemed that after their wild night, he had slipped away unnoticed. It wasn’t like him to be late to their morning training routines, and when the sun had risen well enough into the sky for the rest of Skyhold to wake and he still hadn’t appeared, Ellana began to suspect that he’d found his entertainment elsewhere. No one else knew where he’d run off to either; the most that she could glean from anyone were places that they thought they’d seen him or places he oft frequented. Dorian and Bull kept her company along with her two guards, making idle conversation while she searched the hold.

When she did find him, it was by accident. It was chilly in the bowels of her castle, a cold draft drifting up her legs and seeping through her thin tunic. She drew her cloak tighter around her body though it did little to help. Winter would be on them soon, bringing those severe snowstorms she’d come to dread. She was checking the lower levels, glancing down empty passageways that led to rooms long since abandoned, when she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.

He sat at the end of the small hallway, feet propped up on the desk in the hidden library. Though spiderwebs hung heavy in the room and balls of dust drifted around their ankles, he seemed unbothered. His brow was furrowed and he scowled at the thick tome opened on his lap. With a sigh, he set it on top of a growing pile on the desk and opened another.

He looked up, no doubt hearing Dorian and Bull’s squabbling through the crystal, and smiled. “Lady Herald!”

“Who’s that?” Bull asked as Dorian said, “Is that him?”

“Yes. I’ll speak with you later.” She shut the lid to the necklace, quieting their voices, and made her way down the hallway. “I’m offended that you find these dusty old books more entertaining than me.”

“Than you? I could never.” He shut the book, taking his legs off the table. Dust rose into the air with every movement. “I must admit, I thought with last night you would surely not want to train.”

“Last night only makes me want to train more.” She leaned against one of the bookcases lining the walls. “I cannot be taken unawares like that again. It near cost me a man’s life.”

“If you are thinking that this changes anything, I am afraid it does not. You are still not ready to use knives.”

His smirk was as charming as possible, as if he thought his smile would disarm her so much that she might not argue. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she swallowed her argument and changed the subject. “What are you doing down here anyhow? There’s a perfectly good library upstairs. Or are you just particular to your spider friends?”

He grinned as he stood. “You know what I always say: a library cannot make claims to be decent without at least three residing spiders.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It displeases me to admit that I know little and less of this wolf of yours, and I do not enjoy not knowing who I am fighting against. I thought I would take it upon myself to cipher out the truth, and yet it seems the truth is only written in ancient elven.” Annoyance flicked across his face. 

She raised an eyebrow. “I can read it for you.”

“Ah, that I wish that you could. But I am afraid I said  _ ancient _ elven, Lady Herald.”

She smirked, glancing back at her guards. Any of her companions would have understood what was so humorous to her, but the one guard that was actually facing her never moved his eyes from Zevran. “I know what you said.”

“The wonder that is you never seems to cease,” he said, though she could tell he was confused. She moved over to his desk, and he pulled the chair out for her. As she sat, he opened one of the ancient tomes. Zevran grabbed the back of the chair, leaning close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “May I ask how you happened across this knowledge? Did you seduce a warlock to teach you his secrets?”

“Something like that. Except it was a well.” She narrowed her eyes, leaning over the book. The words scattered on the page, mashing together in new and strange ways and though it made her heart hurt, she could hear their meaning whispered in her head. “This one is just a list of spells. They’re trivial.”

When she looked up at him, his expression was incredulous. “You are pulling my leg, are you not? Playing a joke on your dear friend Zevran.” She shook his head, and he looked at her guard. “Did you know she could do this? You are truly handy to have around, Inquisitor.”

“So I’ve been told.” She cast a glance toward the towering stack of books. “We can read these later, right? I’m not overly fond of reading to begin with, and these seem the especially boring kind.”

“Of course,” he said as she stood. A spider web twisted around her stump, and she quickly brushed the sticky tendrils away. “We can start tonight. Preferably with wine. Clothes are optional, however.”

She smiled as he waggled his eyebrows. “If you come into my chambers without clothes, I will have the guards escort you naked through the keep.”

His jaw dropped, and he looked to the guard again. “Can you believe this? And after I saved your life. Lady Herald, for  _ shame _ .”

Between the two of them and the guards, they managed to carry most of the books back up to her room. Ellana had hoped to squeeze in at least some training, but by the time they were done a messenger was at her door summoning her to the funeral. She dismissed Zevran so that she could change into something more appropriate.

She donned her cloak over her ceremonial armor, pinning it with the Inquisition brooch. She buckled the gauntlet on her stump, throwing a quiver on her back. As she stepped out of the castle, she pulled her hood over her hair, covering her head from the mist raining down from the sky. 

The mourners gathered in the Courtyard, their drawn hoods doing little to mask their grief. It was a small party; the guard had few family and friends, but Cullen’s small retinue of soldiers made their group appear larger than it was. 

The guard lay on a simple stretcher made of cloth and wood. His helmet nestled in the crook of his elbow, and his armor was polished and wax as if it were brand new. Washed of the blood, he looked disturbingly young.

Cullen’s guards that weren’t carrying the litter took point around the mourners and they began their march to the pyre. Cullen walked at her side, silent. Charter was there as well, and the messenger who the spy had threatened her with. The rain grew worse as they walked, plopping loudly on the cobblestoned road. Those in the path stepped aside to let them past.

They set the litter under an awning where his body wouldn’t get any wetter. A woman wept into her hands, a child pressed flush against her leg. She kept pulling at her mother’s skirts, asking when her father would wake up.

Ellana swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. This wasn’t her first funeral, but it was the first man that had died because of him.  _ No, _ she reminded herself,  _ not the first. The blood staining his hands begins before even the Conclave.  _

Cullen led the procession through the funeral rites. The guards were the loudest, the weeping woman only managing to whisper the words. The messenger knuckled at his cheeks but was silent. Once they ended, they turned their gaze on her. 

A guard used his shield to block the light rain from dousing the torch he carried. She knocked an arrow and let the tip rest in the fire. When the guard stepped away, the fire crept up the arrow and towards her fingers. 

She brought her knuckles to her cheek and took aim. The arrow arched high into the sky before landing on the pyre with a loud crack. Thankfully, the wood had been kept mostly dry, and it caught fire almost immediately. The heat grew, chasing away the chill from the rain, and she slipped behind Cullen and to the messenger’s side. 

He sniffed, straightening up at the sight of her. His pink nose betrayed him, however, and he brushed a knuckle across his cheek once again. She watched the pyre, the light from the fire reflecting across the faces of those gathered. The side of his face angled towards her was shadowed. “He shouldn’t have died,” he finally said, looking down and wringing his hands. “He was my friend. If I had known…” He broke off and swallowed.

“It isn’t your fault,” she told him.  _ It’s Solas’s. The man I love. He did this to me, to us, to that woman and her child. And this is only the beginning. _

His expression hardened. He looked back at the flames and clenched his jaw. Ellana glanced at the woman again but a flash of movement higher off the ground caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Zevran, perched on the roof of a nearby house. She thought he may have winked when she caught his gaze, but the shimmering smoke made it impossible to tell.

“I never caught your name.”

“Nathaniel.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose.

After the funeral, the Inquisitor spoke with Cullen about giving the man a few days to himself before offering to give him a place on her personal guard. When questioned, she only reminded the Commander that she wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. 

She retired early to her chambers, removing the thick leather straps of her metal arm. With a groan, the monstrous thing came off. She sat on the couch and started to massage her stump.

“Does it trouble you?”

She was on her feet in an instant, raising a hand to— to block, or to strike, she wasn’t sure which. It fell back to her side almost immediately as she recognized the voice and the man leaning casually against her desk. He was smiling, amused no doubt at her surprise. “Did I scare you? Forgive me.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I asked you a question first.”

Her fingers squeezed at the stump again. “Only a little. Your turn.”

He inclined his head towards the balcony. “It is not so high a climb.”

“Right, because knocking on my door like a normal person is too outlandish to consider. Why would you even climb up the side of my castle to get into my room?”

“Your door was unlocked, Lady Herald.” He pushed off the desk and sauntered towards her. Hopefully he couldn’t see the embarrassed blush tinging her cheeks. “You are in luck. I happen to be an excellent masseur. I will have you relaxed and purring like a cat in no time.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said, quickly moving past him and to the desk. As tempting as he was, she certainly was in no mood for his flirting today. She tossed her cloak aside, sitting and staring at the piles of books in front of her.

“A leader who is all work and no play will do little to inspire the masses,” Zevran stated.

She arched an eyebrow though didn’t look up as she pulled a piece of parchment from her desk. “And what do you know of inspiring the masses?”

“Very little, I will admit.” He leaned over the front of her desk, squinting as her quill scratched across the paper. “What are you writing?”

She handed it to him, and he furrowed his brows. “We won’t have enough time in the world to read all of these books—”

“Unfortunately.”

“—And we don’t have near enough time to teach you the entirety of the Elven language—”

“A shame.”

“—So I wrote the words that you need to look out for and their meanings in the common tongue.” She handed him a heavy tome, and he took it with a sigh.

“This was not quite how I hoped this night would go.” He sat on the floor with his back leaning against the foot of her bed, opening the book in his lap. Ellana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; had he really thought the night would go elsewhere?

There was a knock at the door, and a servant slipped in with Althea on her heels. She cast a double glance at Zevran before announcing, “I have some letters for you, Inquisitor.” The serving woman started a fire in the hearth, moving to light the scones on the wall and various candles scattered around the room before she left. 

“Lady Althea, you look as stunning as always.”

“Easy,” Ellana warned, her emerald eyes flashing at the elf. That mouth of his was bound to get him in trouble with Fenris sooner or later. Althea just smiled, unperturbed, and handed her the sealed letters. “One is from Empress Celene, the other Varric.”

“The Empress,” Zevran repeated. “You have powerful friends, Herald.”

Ellana snorted. “She is far from my friend.” Sure enough, the letter only contained the barest of information. Due to their alliance, they were duty bound to send letters informing the other of the current state of affairs. However, they both wrote as little as they could; it seemed Orlais trusted the Inquisition as much as the Inquisition trusted Orlais. Or as much as anyone trusted Orlais, really.

Varric’s letter was completely different. He’d filled up two pages front and back and she could tell that it had been a struggle for him to fit it all in. He spoke of Kirkwall, mostly, of how grueling work it was to better the city. It was working though; he’d gotten several new companies in Antiva and Orlais to agree to trading with them. Soon, he promised, they’d be back to their former glory. Minus the slave market, of course.

He talked about his companions too. Aveline, the head of the city guard, thanked her for the small retinue of Inquisition soldiers she’d sent to help out the guardsmen. There was a Dalish elf — Merrill — who was protecting and bettering the alienage. According to Varric, it was important that they meet whenever she decided to visit. Isabela, their pirate informant on the Waking Sea, docked often, bringing all kinds of foreign treasure to sell to the city’s merchants.

She handed the parchment back to Althea. “Tell her of the assassin, and that we have found nothing in regards to Solas.”

“Of course. And Varric’s letter?”

“Tell him that we’re leaving for Kirkwall soon.”

“You speak Elven, I assume,” Zevran said, his knee swaying back and forth as he stared at the woman. “Why don’t you join us?”

“I might, if I knew what you were doing.”

“Reading,” Ellana said with a barely-constrained groan. “It’s written in ancient Elven, but I think you’ll know enough to get by. You just need to look out for a few words, anything about Solas or the Veil or strange magics.”

Ellana passed over a book before Althea could protest, and she sighed. “I should send these letters first.” Ellana stood, letting the elf take her seat so she could write.

The Inquisitor sat instead on the couch, sprawling out and starting the arduous process of reading. There were at least a dozen books that they’d gathered; it was bound to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but TELL ME zev and ellana aren't the freaking cutest. their back and forth just [clenches fist] GETS ME. headcanon that zev just constantly talks to her guards trying to make new friends but they never talk back


	6. Chapter 6

Ellana Lavellan could not claim to be a nostalgic woman. At least, no more nostalgic than the average person. But, occasionally, she did feel an ache in her chest that could be attributed to nothing other than missing the way things used to be. It was hard to remember a time when she wasn’t the Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste or the Dread Wolf’s lover, hard to remember a time when she was just Ellana Lavellan, the best hunter and the best archer that the clan had ever seen. Back then, the only worries she had were stumbling across a human or wondering if they would have either deer or goat (again) for dinner.

The Fallaviel clan had brought back that ache, so instead of training or eating or searching for more information about Solas, the Inquisitor found herself sitting in a large oak tree, watching Althea’s clan through the leaves. The elves all sat around the fire, eating the two deer that the hunters had carried back earlier that day. She could hear their laughs from where she sat.

Her heart twisted with homesickness. She missed it, missed her family and friends. Though she knew how close-minded and arrogant the Dalish could be, they were good people. Good people and good company. Knowing that she might never have a clan again made her mouth taste like ash.

The tree shook, and Ellana jumped into a crouch. Ready for a fight, she tensed, only to see none other than Zevran Arainai climbing up. She moved down the branch, and he let out a pant once he got to her. “Lady Herald! What brings you here?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He settled in beside her, opening up a satchel. “Hungry?” He handed her food that he’d wrapped up and stuffed in the bag. For a moment, they were silent as they chewed. “Why don’t you go down there and join them?”

She shook her head. “I would  _ not _ be welcome.”

“How do you know?” She only looked at him, and he shrugged. “Well, I suppose you are right. But who cares?”

“I, for one. I’m sure they might have a few cares as well.” She waited for the inevitable question: what happened to  _ your _ clan? However, as time stretched on and he didn’t ask, she only assumed that he knew. But of course he knew, he was the spymaster. It was his job to know.

“If I may ask a question. Your tattoos— vallaslin, the elves call it? I have asked around, and no one seems to know what exactly happened.”

“You’ve been asking around about me? You could have just asked me, you know.”

He shrugged. “It’s my job to know things. I did not want to give you the impression I was bad at my job.”

She stared at him for a moment before sighing. “Swear to me you’ll tell no one. Especially not Althea.”

He raised a hand to cement his oath. “I swear.”

“They’re slave markings. The Evanuris were no better than the Tevinters, apparently. They would mark their worshippers with a brand to distinguish them from one another.”

“And where did yours go?”

“Solas knew a spell.”

They looked back at the clan. Some of them were dancing now, and Ellana smiled as she watched Althea pull Fenris towards the fire. He was clumsy about it, but with her leading, they were soon dancing right along with the rest of them.

“Do you not think that the vallaslin means something else now?” Zevran asked. “That it has not been reclaimed as a sign of the Dalish?”

She shrugged. “Possibly. But to me, it’s just another reminder of what the Dalish got wrong. They still think the elven gods are gods; they don’t know.”

“Why don’t you tell them? Surely they would want to know.”

She’d asked the same of Solas, once. The memory brought a forlorn smile to her face. “Have you ever tried to tell a Dalish elf they were wrong?” He shook his head. “Don’t. They don’t take well to it, especially not coming from city elves who — in their eyes — don’t know any better.

“Besides, who am I to take that away from them? If they want to continue petting their halla and praying to gods who aren’t there, that’s their decision.”

“That is all very true,” he said. A pause. “My mother was Dalish, you know. Or so I was told.”

“Really? But you aren’t Dalish.”

“No, I am afraid not. My mother had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city. Where he of course died of some filthy disease, forcing my mother into prostitution to repay his debts. Oldest tale in the books.”

Ellana blinked. “Is that a joke? Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you. Are you joking?”

“No, no. I wish. It is all true.”

“Creators. I’m sorry, Zevran. That’s terrible.”

“Is it? It was quite the common story for the other elven lads. Regardless, my mother died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were. We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, until I was eventually sold to the Crows. I fetched a handsome price or so I’m told.”

“They  _ bought _ you? Like a slave?”

Zevran’s lips twitched into a wicked grin. “Dear Herald, there is no need to get angry. It was a long time ago, after all.” He bumped his shoulder into hers, waving his hand about as he spoke. “My original point is that my mother’s Dalish nature was always a point of fascination for me. And when one of their clans drew near Antiva city, I ran off to join them. Naturally the reality did not live up to the fantasies I had imagined as a boy.”

Ellana snorted, picking off a piece of the bread he held. “Dalish life is hardly charming. A little simpler, maybe, but it has its trouble like every other.”

“But you see I did not know that as a young man,” he stressed, making the woman smile. “I only stayed for a little while before I went back to the Crows with my tail between my legs.”

“I’m sure they were pleased their best assassin had returned to them.”

That made Zevran laugh loud enough that she was sure the clan would hear them. “I was far from their best assassin, though it pleases me that you would think so. Truth be told, I was terrible.”

“Terrible?” 

“Terrible,” he agreed, nodding. “I had talent, do not mistake me, but I was only good when I was paired with two others. I, of course, was the handsome one of the bunch.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure. How did you manage to kill the Crows if you were such a terrible assassin?”

“Would you believe me if I said I charmed them to death?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

He chuckled. “Ah, I imagined as much. During my time with the Hero of Ferelden, I became considerably stronger. And when I tested out my skills on the former masters, it turned out I was better. Or lucky, whichever you prefer.”

“Well, one does not take down the most prominent assassin’s guild in the known world with luck alone.”

“You are not wrong, Lady Herald.”

After a moment, Ellana said, “I miss dancing the most.”

“Dancing?” Zevran repeated, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yes, dancing. I was the best in my clan.”

The assassin narrowed his eyes. “Are you the best at everything you do?”

“Hm. I’m bad at admitting I’m not the best at everything I do.”

He laughed at that. “You know, I happen to be quite the dancer as well. However the Antivan dances are different than what you would expect. Come.”

“What? Right now?”

“Unless you do not think you can handle it-”

“Let’s go, then.”

By the time they got to the Herald’s Rest, the crowd had left, with only Cabot and a couple of workers remaining. The dwarf grumbled as they entered and started heading out the door. “Lock up when you’re through, and I don’t give a damn if you’re Andraste herself; you owe me for whatever you drink.”

He pushed the keys into her hands before he left. Ellana met Zevran’s gaze with a smirk. “Yes, he’s always so cranky.”

Zevran laughed and started pushing the tables aside. “Why are you moving the tables?” she asked watching the vast open space grow.

“This type of dancing requires a certain… artistry. And room. A lot of room.”

She smirked and met him in the middle. “Are you sure you still want to do this? I would hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

“Same goes to you, Lady Herald.” He took her hand in his, pressing another palm on the small of her back and yanking her to him.

Her breath caught, and she stumbled over her thoughts for a second. “Let’s dance then.”

“I’m afraid the dance I’m going to teach you is nothing like the ones you know.” He grinned then, something wicked and feral, pulling her until her chest was pressed flush against his. He spread one leg out, and she mirrored him with only a split second of hesitation.

He pulled back, and she followed the half-moon movement. He shook his head as he stood straight and pulled her back to him. “You have to stay close.”

She leaned her head back so that she could see his face. “The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

They fell back into the dance. He led slowly at first, carefully, every movement calculated and precise. He turned her so that her back was to his chest and leaned. She let him support her as she tilted. His hand slid up her waist and onto her stomach, which was tied in knots. She bit her lip as she tried to calm her breathing. His hand kept rising and right when she was about to slap it away, he spun her and then yanked her right back.

She grabbed onto his shoulder before she crashed right into him- and his lips were right there. Her heartbeat stuttered as she bumped into his chest. His breath curled on her face, smelling of spice and the sharp twang of wine.

He took a step forward, and it was all she could do to mirror him. They stopped again, and his hand grazed up her side. “Hold your arm out,” he said, and she did as she was told. His fingers ghosted down her skin, leaving goosebumps trailing in his wake.

He slowly twined his fingers with hers, their foreheads touching. They took one slow, sensual step to the side before taking long strides back. Then they were really dancing, and she understood why they needed so much space. They moved from side to side, spinning and twirling.

They stepped, and she moved her leg in its own invented motion. “Like that?” she asked, surprised at how out of breath she already was.

“You  _ are _ exceptional.”

“Did you doubt me?”

He twirled her before taking her by the hips and dipping her. She waved a hand to an invisible audience before he pulled her back up. He was behind her again, an expert hand trailing across her stomach.

“Are—” She swallowed to rid herself of the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Are you sure your hands—”

He stepped forward so his chest was flush against her back. He dipped his head toward her neck, and she could feel his warm breath pool on her skin. One hand held hers while the other’s fingers were splayed across her stomach, keeping the butterflies inside.

“Trust me,” he whispered and chills danced down her spine. 

They moved forward one, two steps before he spun her. His fingers dug into her hips, tugging her back to him. She inhaled the wine from his lips, becoming dizzier and dizzier by the second. She closed her eyes to try to catch up with her brain and her body. They paused and, for a moment, she thought the dance was over.

He pulled her back with him in one long, sweeping step before they were twirling and stalking and kicking again. She hooked her leg around his thigh, and he grinned as he leaned back.

“Now you lean.” His voice was as husky as hers had been. She leaned, but he grabbed her hips forward as she did, urging her to bend her back. She did as much, dipping her head back so that her hair swung towards the floor. 

She leaned back up, and he guided her hand up his stomach, over his chest and throat, resting on his jaw. His hand fell back to her waist, and his honeyed eyes were locked on hers. She gave up trying to control her breathing and focused on breathing, period. He dragged her back, and the pace quickened again, allowing her the chance to get distracted by the dance.

But that was impossible. With every step they took, he got more and more into it until he was full on dancing and it was all she could do to keep up. He started to add his own embellishments, kicking his feet out and twirling and rolling his hips. 

“They do that in Antiva too?” Ellana asked.

“I may be over exaggerating some,” he admitted, sweeping her around so fast that any protests she had died on her tongue. He held out an arm, and she twirled before he tugged her back.

Without warning, he ducked his shoulder but keep pulling her. She followed his motion, rolling over his back. He grabbed her around the waist and spun, dipping her down once again.

This time as he brought her slowly back up, he bent over her form. His mouth trailed up her throat, lips so infuriatingly close that she could imagine how they felt as they moved up her skin. Her eyes stared solely at his lips, and her head was so foggy. She forgot why it would be wrong, why it was a bad idea.

The corners of his lips flickered into a smirk, and the dance was forgotten. They both panted, and she was thoroughly drunk on him, his smell, his breath, the way his hooded amber eyes were just as focused on her mouth. 

A clumsy laugh tumbled from her lips. “Are you trying to seduce me?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Depends.” His eyes flashed, and his voice dropped an octave as he whispered, “Would it work?”

_ Yes, _ Creators— In a heartbeat, she was flush against him, his mouth pressed hard against hers. His fingers knotted in her hair, and she dug her nails into his back, pulling him closer. He tasted even better than he smelled, like spices and the faint sour twinge of wine. He pushed against her, shoving her back against a bar stool. He blindly knocked it out of the way, hoisting her up onto the counter.

She broke away from him, shaking her head. But he didn’t see her, couldn’t tell, and she could feel her already shaky resolve melting. They couldn’t— if the others knew, if anyone found out— She pushed on his chest, but her fingers worked against her, curling into his tunic and tugging him closer.

He offered her only a second of relief before his hungry mouth hit her neck. Her breath caught in her throat, and she grabbed tight onto his hair. He chuckled, his laugh tickling and making her squirm. She laughed too, and his hands locked onto her thighs, holding her in place. 

“We  _ can’t _ —” she gasped, breathless.

“We already are,” he pointed out as his tongue traced up her throat. He pressed chaste kisses across her jaw, taking her earlobe in his teeth. Her eyes closed, and she grabbed onto his shoulder to keep from falling over.

He suddenly stopped, taking a quick step back. He held his hands up at his chest, innocent eyes stretched wide. She opened her eyes slowly, like she was coming out of a fog. “Unless you would like me to stop…?”

She shook her head, reaching out with furrowed eyebrows and frustration. “Uh-uh, come he—” He was back between her knees before she could finish her sentence, lips cutting off her protests.

Later, they moved back up to her room. She locked up the tavern, the both of them sneaking past guards and the occasional servant to continue their dance in her quarters. They stayed up late into the night, even though she knew she’d regret it once sun rose.

By the time dawn rolled around, they had finally fallen asleep. The messenger Nathaniel woke them when he knocked on the door, announcing that the Commander, Fenris, and the Lady Althea were waiting on her to go to Kirkwall.

“Five more minutes,” Zevran muttered as Ellana sat up with a groggy snort. She clambered out of the bed so suddenly that she lost her balance and nearly fell. As it was, she stumbled, catching herself on her dresser.

Too early. Who decided to leave so early? She’d kill them, she’d—

_ Oh, _ she remembered.  _ I did. _

“Fenedhis,” she cursed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tugged on a new tunic. She buckled a leather vest over a thin sheet of mail, banging into every piece of furniture she owned at least once. Every word out of her mouth was a curse as she fumbled with her breeches and boots.

“ _ Shhh _ ,” Zevran hissed, throwing the blanket over his head.

Ellana spun around, taking in the disarray of the bed with a growing sense of horror. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh no.” Creators be damned right to the Void, she’d actually  _ done it.  _ She’d hoped it was all a dream, that she hadn’t actually slipped up and—

There was another knock. “Ellana?” came Cullen’s voice.

“ _ Shit _ ,” she whispered, ducking behind the bed as if that would keep her hidden.

“May I come in?”

“No! Don’t!”

“Is everything alright?”

She had to bite her tongue to keep back the string of curses as she jumped around to get her leg bracers on. “Everything’s — just — great. Oh,  _ shit _ .” She fell onto her side while trying to tug her boots on. 

“Ellana? What’s going on?” The door creaked open, and she quickly scrambled on hand and knees to the top of the stairs. “Maker’s—”

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I just fell. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Though he didn’t look convinced, he shut the door and left her to continue getting dressed. While buckling on her bow-gauntlet, she looked around for her pack. Of course, it was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the hell is my bag?” She threw her quiver around her back, sticking a hunting knife in her belt. 

One of Zevran’s arms appeared from under the quilt, pointing towards the wall. “Hearth,” his muffled voice said.

“Thank you.” She shoved a few other tunics, a couple of pants, and various other items inside the bag before slinging it over her shoulder. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she gave the elf one last glance. “Steal anything and I’ll set Cullen’s mabari on you,” she whispered before leaving him to sleep.

The ex-Templar took a step back as she squeezed out of the room. For a second, she just stared at him, panting, while he narrowed his eyes at her. “Were you talking to someone?”

“What? Oh, no, just Dorian.” She palmed the pendant, realizing that it was shut. Before Cullen could say anything to protest, she started babbling to his pup and to the servants and the guards— basically everyone they passed all the way up to the gate.

Fenris wasn’t the worst, as far as travelling companions went. The worst that could be said of him was he could be irritated easily, and he often would get aggravated with how much Ellana talked. But all in all, that wasn’t the worst thing. Althea had flown ahead of them; no doubt she’d already reached the city.

It was a short trip, regardless. It only took them a day to get to Jader, two more to cross the Waking Sea, and then they were in Kirkwall.

Kirkwall was… strange, to say the least. When people spoke of cities, this was more akin to what she imagined, rather than Val Royeaux’s glittering streets and winding white cathedrals. Kirkwall was dark and stifling with heavy clouds threatening rain at any moment. It reeked of shit and sweat — and, faintly, blood — and the clamor of its citizens shouting their wares and the children shrieking and playing naked in the streets was near deafening. 

Varric was waiting for them near the docks, grinning toothily as they stepped off the merchant’s ship. “It’s been too long, Broody,” he greeted, and Fenris looked less like his namesake as he shook the dwarf’s hand. “And look at you!” He clapped Ellana’s hands in both of his. “Back to saving the world, and you look as healthy as one of those battle nugs you wrangled.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this your way of nicely telling me that I’m gaining weight?”

He winked. “Well you’re certainly not losing any. I was worried you’d come to me looking like a skeleton. And look at this!” He examined the metal gauntlet on her left arm; Dagna had made her a new one before she’d left for the Free Marches. This one was purely for ceremonial and diplomatic use; it was gray with carved, winding designs, including a green line cut across the palm that was meant to signify the Anchor. “Dagna’s been busy, I see.”

Varric ushered them through the city, their flanks surrounded by guardsmen. Fenris took in a deep breath and sighed. “It’s hard to imagine that I could ever miss this place. And yet…”

Mistrustful eyes peeked out from behind shutters and barely cracked-open doors to watch them pass. No one greeted them though, and the people stayed firmly hidden in their homes. Those that were outside in the street watched them with narrowed eyes, pressed against walls in an attempt to get as far away as possible from their entourage. It seemed that the people of Kirkwall were as hard as the city’s stone walls.

“It’s home,” he agreed. “Where’s Twinkles?”

“At Skyhold, for now. There are many wounded from a recent expedition that she must tend to.”

Varric nodded, accepting the lie without hesitation. “Sounds like Twinkles. Always ready to help.”

“I noticed the Siren’s Call was in port. Isabela is here, I presume?”

“She sure is, and she has a bone to pick with you.” Varric’s brown eyes shone with mirth.

“Wonderful,” Fenris grumbled under his breath. “What about this time?”

“Not sure. She stormed out, and I  _ thought _ I heard her say something like ‘lying bastard’. Whatever it is, the tavern’s open again so you can buy her a drink and put it to rest.”

They stopped at a building that towered over the rest, dark and menacing despite the bright banners that hung around the heavy wooden doors. Fenris paused outside, mentioning that he should go see to Isabela before disappearing. Ellana thought she saw a pale bird flit across the sky, but it was gone so fast that she might have imagined it.

“Now, I know this is nothing like Skyhold, so don’t get too disappointed.”

The inside was completely different from the outside; where it was cold and harsh, the Keep itself was warm and bright. Fires roared in hearths, candles and sconces lit the entirety of the room. Guards and nobles grinned at them as they passed, slapping Varric’s back and shaking his hand. Names and faces flashed in front of her, and she kept a smile as she greeted his friends. They gaped, they grinned, they went pale in the face while meeting the infamous Inquisitor.

“I’m usually the most famous person around here,” Varric explained as one young soldier just stared blankly at her, jaw dropped. “They’re not used to  _ real _ celebrities. Are you, Samuel?”

Samuel shook his head, blinking, and mumbled some kind of nonsense before wandering away. Ellana snorted. In all honesty, she’d experienced worse. She pushed down the memory of the survivors of Haven all singing to her before her whole face could go beet red. 

A freckled woman with bright orange hair walked up to them. “Inquisitor,” she said. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Aveline, Captain of the City Guard.”

“Ellana Lavellan.”

“Don’t let her rough-and-tough exterior confuse you,” Varric said. “She’s a huge fan.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed red. “Thanks, Varric. Can always count on you to make it awkward.”

“Trust me, you were doing just fine on your own,” Varric stated.

Aveline turned to her with a barely suppressed sigh. “I just wanted to say thank you. For saving the world, and all. You’re a big deal up here.”

“Knitting holes in the sky, killing gods: it’s a pretty normal Tuesday afternoon for me.”

That got a chuckle from the dwarf. “We should get going. I’m sure there’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANSDFOISDJFJSDPSJDPFDS
> 
> IF YOU THINK I'M OKAY YOU'RE WRONG!!
> 
> AND aveline!!!! i LOVE HER


	7. Chapter 7

It was rare for the Inquisitor to have a plan go so well as their trip to Kirkwall did. After enclosing all the information she had on Solas to Varric, he’d urged her to warn Merrill just as they’d expected. The viscount was worried that the Dalish woman would be just as susceptible to Solas’s tricks.

Fenris helped her convince Merrill, and then the alienage elves, of the dangers posed to them. Ellana and Fenris stood on buckets and barrels on the stairs leading down to the alienage as they addressed the bare-faced crowd in the dirty street. Whichever ones were unwilling to believe the Inquisitor were swayed by Fenris and Merrill, both familiar and trusted faces.

She offered them a chance to return to Skyhold with them, where they would be protected and live in better conditions. While she spoke, a pale golden bird flew down from an awning, landing on the shoulder of an elf. She tried not to stare as the elf took a small folded parchment from the bird’s talons. The bird flew away.

After they were done talking, Merrill reached for the Inquisitor’s arm as Fenris was busy speaking with some of his friends in the alienage. “Pardon me, my lady. I’d like to show you something, if you don’t mind.” The Dalish elf led her into an alleyway and climbed a flight of stairs that folded up the side of a building. They stopped in front of a door that had no knob. She waved a hand and the outlines of the door flashed green before it swung open.

A dull blue light flickered across her face, freezing her in place. A mix of dread and terror and a tiny blossoming hope wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Her tongue grew heavy as she stared at the Eluvian sitting across the room.

“It’s not fixed yet,” Merrill said, which explained why the light of the mirror was so weak. Ellana quickly shut the door behind them, and the frame glowed as it sealed. “I still have a ways to go, I think, but I think it should work soon enough!”

“Where did you find this?” Ellana demanded. She neared it, carefully, letting the faint light wash over her body.

Merrill twisted her hands in front of her body, rising and falling on her tiptoes as she spoke. “An old friend of mine from a long time ago said he heard from another friend that she didn’t really talk to as much anymore but assured that they still correspond every once in awhile said— In the Brecilian forest,” she amended, cutting off her lengthy explanation due to a sharp look from the other elf. 

The Inquisitor reached out, her hand hesitating in front of the strange rippling surface. It glowed near her palm, glowing brighter as it responded to her body.

He was  _ there _ , right through the mirror. Hope glittered in her chest, and she had to swallow hard to rid herself of the lump growing in her throat. If Merrill could do this, if she could fix this, Ellana would have a way to get to him. If she could just see him again, in a place where he couldn’t run away, somewhere he didn’t have complete control, she would be able to convince him to give up his foolish plan. 

She  _ would _ .

She retracted her hand.

“Why didn’t Varric tell me?”

Merrill grimaced. “Oh no, I didn’t— No, don’t be angry at Varric, please, I am entirely to blame. I didn’t tell him. After… After the last one I knew he wouldn’t want me to have it. But I can fix it,” she quickly reassured, stepping closer to Ellana. “I swear. I can do this. I know what to do this time.”

The elf stared at her, her green eyes spread wide with earnest. “I have a friend,” Ellana said and stepped back and away from the mirror. “Her name is Morrigan. She’s a shemlen, but she has a great knowledge of these things. She’s fixed an Eluvian before.”

Merrill’s hopes looked dashed. She quickly tried to hide her disappointment. Ellana couldn’t blame her; there was a time that she’d been just as reluctant to share any of their culture with the humans. But the humans were not to blame for the fall of the elves.

“You can learn a lot from her. She knows just about everything. At least, she thinks she does.” Ellana mumbled the last bit, glancing at the mirror one last time.  _ If only…  _

Soon. With Merrill and Morrigan both working on it, it wouldn’t be long. And that would be good, because they didn’t have much time. The Exalted Council was nearing six months ago, and Solas had only promised her a few years. 

Time was slipping away, faster than she was willing to admit.

With an aching chest, Ellana turned away.

Varric and Fenris were waiting for her and Merrill at the Hanged Man. They’d already started drinking, the latter laughing into a full bottle of wine at something the dwarf had said. Aveline was with them, as well as a dark-skinned, curvy woman.

At her entrance, Varric cheered and held up a drink. “Freckles! Where’ve you been? Broody said he turned around and you were gone!”

Merrill pretended to be sheepish as Ellana sat in an empty seat next to the unfamiliar woman. “I had about a thousand questions. I got a little carried away.”

“Typical Daisy,” Varric said, with a kind smile.

The woman grinned at Ellana, a hand under her chin. “You must be the Inquisitor. Pretty thing, you are.”

“Ellana, this is Isabela,” Varric said.

Their pirate informant. “Nice to meet you. I can’t stay long—”

Groans went up around the table. “C’mon, Freckles, you just got here!” Varric protested. “At least stay for a couple of drinks.”

Her emerald eyes narrowed. “You know that after a couple of drinks you won’t be able to get me to leave.”

“ _ Exactly _ .” He waved at a waitress, who set a flagon in front of her and filled it up. Ellana took a hesitant drink, more to appease the dwarf than anything.

“You must have the most interesting stories,” Aveline said.

Ellana only snorted. “That’s a word for them. Personally, I refer to them as horrible. Terrifying, in some cases.”

Fenris wrinkled up his nose, looking around before turning to Isabela. “Where is Rowan? I cannot imagine she did not want to come home.”

“She’s here, but…” The pirate glanced at Ellana. “Well, you know how Row can get. Most like, she’s off giving some of your guards a run for their money.”

Aveline raised her eyebrows. “Probably. Some of them are greener than summer grass. Never even been blooded.”

“Broody was just telling me that talking to the elves went well.”

“I didn’t realize alienages were so bad. I heard stories, but that was…”

“One of the better ones,” Isabela said, patting the Inquisitor’s hand. “Trust me, sweetling, Varric’s done wonders by those elves.”

She didn’t want to imagine what a bad one would look like. She felt a sting of pity, suddenly, for Sera. She’d grown up in Denerim’s alienage. Knowing how Ferelden treated anyone who wasn’t a Ferelden human, she could only imagine how terrible the conditions were.

They talked for a while longer, Ellana careful to limit herself to only the one flagon. She could see why the Champion had liked them all; they were a joyous group of people, and just one drink with them was proving to be quite the adventure. With the beginnings of a buzz whispering at the back of her mind, she excused herself. Varric offered her to lead her to her room in the tavern.

“I would let you stay in the Keep, but most of it’s still under construction.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Lucky for you, you get to stay in my old room. Best of the best. A real—”

As soon as they had climbed the stairs, she pulled the dwarf aside and ducked her head towards him. “Merrill has an Eluvian.”

He whirled around. “ _ What _ ?” She quickly hushed him, dragging him to an alcove at the end of the hall. “The last one she tried to fix, she—”

“That’s why I’ll send for Morrigan first thing tomorrow.” They paused as a drunk couple stumbled out of a nearby room. Giggling, they ignored the two as they staggered back downstairs. “Normally, I wouldn’t consider it but we  _ need _ this.”

Varric rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“I think she thought you’d make her give it up.”

“Damn right I would!” He sighed. “I’m not sure I even trust Morrigan. I know she fixed the last mirror, but look how well that turned out. Besides, Daisy’s almost as bad as you are when it comes to the whole elves-come-first thing. She’s not gonna want to share, and when has Witchy ever been, I don’t know,  _ nice _ ?”

“Good point. Regardless, they’ll have to, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on them. We need that mirror.”

Varric paused. Stared at her. “How are you? And I mean really. Not this I’m-fine-don’t-worry bullshit you keep sending in your letters.”

It took actual effort to keep the  _ I’m fine _ back. It had long since become an instinctual response. Of course, Varric knew her better than that though. Everyone knew her better than that, truthfully. No one just shrugs off the things that had happened to her. “Not so good. Tired, mostly. Still getting used to the one-arm thing. I managed to lace up my own doublet the other day; you’d be proud.”

“You should go on vacation. Somewhere warm, like Antiva.” He led her down the hallway, opening the door to one of the rooms. “And take Curly with you. Maker knows he needs to lighten up. I’ll even pay.”

“I wish.” Anything else she might have said died on her tongue. The room was simply adorned: a bed, a chest, a window, and a desk and chair. The latter of which was occupied. A human woman sat in it, legs propped up on the wooden surface.

Instinctively, Ellana reached for the hunting knife in her belt. She expected Varric to come to arms as well, but he just sighed. “Feisty. What are you doing in here?”

The woman picked at the dirt under her nails with a dagger. Dark eyes snapped up to the dwarf, only meeting Ellana’s gaze for half a second before looking back at her nails. “This her, then?” she asked in a thick Ferelden accent. “This the Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” Varric said hesitantly. An apologetic expression danced across his face. “Listen, why don’t we all pick up this lovely conversation in the morning at a decent hour?”

She snorted, shoving frizzy blonde hair out of her face. When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to answer his question, Varric tried another tactic, “I know you’ve got some things to say, but she’s had a long trip—”

“Poor Quiz,” the woman cooed. Her attention stayed solely on her fingers.

Varric looked helpless.

“Sorry, who are you?” Ellana asked, glancing between the two.

A smile spread across her face, though it wasn’t a pleasant one. It was raw and jagged, finally giving way to some of the emotions boiling just under the surface. “She don’t even know who I am! That’s bloody brilliant. She got my—” Her smile fell, and her chest pitched as she sucked in a deep breath. “She—”

“This is Rowan,” Varric explained. “Hawke’s girlfriend.”

Oh.

_ Oh no. _

Fury swam in the woman’s eyes, pinning Ellana in place. She wanted to look at her, tried to hold her gaze, but the  _ pain _ … She had to look away. “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

“‘Oh’. Killed Hawke and all she’s got to say is—”

“You know she didn’t—”

“And you sittin’ there defendin’ her as if Hawke didn’t mean shit to you! I wanna hear what she’s gotta say.”

Ellana shook her head. “I am… so sorry. It all happened so fast, and she offered—”

A strangled laugh fell from the girl’s lips. “ _ Offered. _ And you took her up on that, you did. Why wasn’t it you, Quiz? Why didn’  _ you _ stay behind? It was your fight, not Marian’s.”

“She had no—” Varric started.

The dagger slammed into the desk. Her legs flashed as she rose to her full height, towering over the desk and both of them. She had to be scarily close to seven feet, with thick muscles and a red handkerchief tied around her bicep. Both Ellana and Varric fell silent.

“You talk too damn much,” she growled.

“It’s alright,” Ellana told the dwarf. To Rowan, she said, “Hawke offered. I didn’t see any other way out. I wish it hadn’t happened but… she died a hero. I owe her my life. We all do.”

“A hero—” Rowan broke off, sucking in a ragged breath. It looked like that was exactly the opposite of what she wanted to hear. She fell back into the chair.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Varric hesitated for only a moment before nodding and leaving the two of them alone. He left the door open, she noticed. No doubt in case their encounter turned sour. 

Ellana unstrapped her gauntlet and set it on top of the dresser. Her fingers stumbled over the various straps and belts but she managed to remove it without embarrassing herself. Her stump only ached a little; she massaged it after she slid out of her armor.

“I wanna join.”

“I’m sorry?”

Rowan shoved her hair out of her dark eyes. “The Inquisition. I wanna join. It’s what Hawke would want. I think. Regardless, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fuck anythin’ else up.”

The scathing words might have provoked her, had it been anyone else. However, she couldn’t find it in her to blame Rowan. She was young, far too young to know this kind of grief. And if she found solace with the Inquisition, how could she deny her that?

“We’d be happy to have you.”

Rowan paused. Snorted. “Doubt that.” With that, she left, leaving Ellana to her dreams.

And they were terrible dreams. Nightmare crawled over her, picking its way across with fuzzy spider legs. Hawke laid beside her, bright blue eyes staring unseeing up. Dead. Hair filled her mouth, choking her, filling her with unworldly panic. She clawed at her throat, her lips, the ground, desperate to get away, to  _ breathe.  _

“Ellana,” a voice whispered.

The demon went away and air rushed into her chest. She turned onto her stomach, coughing and heaving. “It’s alright. It’s gone now. It was just a fear demon.”

The nightmare-ish surroundings were gone, replaced with Val Royeaux’s glittering white streets. She was on the ground, a pavilion casting a shadow across her. It was warm, calm. A breeze stirred her hair. 

The voice…

She sat up. Sure enough, Cole stood in front of her. His face was pinched in concern. “You’re so sad,” he said.

A laugh bubbled out of her chest, and she threw herself at him. Her arm squeezed around his back. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him; out of all her companions, he’d been the only one she hadn’t heard from since the Council. And with his return to the Fade, she’d feared she might never again see him.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Cole said, as if it were obvious. Ellana blinked away the burning in her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. She leaned back, clapping a hand on his shoulder. The boy swayed and a small smile flickered across his face.

A closer look at their surroundings showed that they were definitely in Val Royeaux. In fact, her and Cole had come to that exact restaurant, years earlier. The memory made her smile. At the time, he had bounced from person to person, healing hurts she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“There was hurt everywhere,” he said, remembering as well. “But I helped them. I want to help you. If you let me.”

It didn’t seem right to burden anyone with her pain. Falling in love with Solas had been her decision, and it was her decision to save him, no matter the cost. Talking about him to people who had lost friends and allies because of him wasn’t fair; it was selfish.

“They want to help too. They won’t hate you. They worry.”

She took a ragged breath, brushed at the wetness on her cheeks. “It’s all so much. I feel like— like I’m drowning in it all.”

“It will get better. Talking will help you. It helps some people.”

There were others in the restaurant. They talked amongst themselves, their chattering becoming background noise. It was… comforting. As if they were back there, back  _ then. _ When the biggest threat was an original darkspawn and Solas still held her hand when they walked together. 

“I  _ miss _ —”

The words caught in her throat.

“I know.”

“I just want it all to stop,” she confessed in a tiny voice. Her lips trembled, and she focused her blurry gaze on the sparkling white cobblestone. “I want some time… I lost so much. I want to grieve, alone.”

“No, not alone. It’s better when there are people. The lonely makes it worse.”

White danced on the edge of her vision. She turned, following the motion, but there was nothing. For a second… No. It was just wishful thinking.

But when she met Cole’s gaze, there was something in those blue eyes of his. A knowing, like he knew what she’d been looking for. And then the confession came tumbling from her lips, despite all the promises she made to hide it from everyone. She couldn’t hold it back, not from him, not while she was bearing the rest of her ugly burdens.

“I see him,” she whispered. “In my dreams. He comes to me. I— I try to, to talk but…”

“He’s afraid. You scare him. You’re real, and it means everyone could be real.”

“Is it possible? Can I convince him?”

Cole squinted his eyes, tilted his head forward so that the brim of his hat hid his face. “I… I don’t know. I can’t… He’s hidden from me.” Despair crumpled in her chest. He looked up, clumsily took her hand. “I think you can. You’re strong, brave. If anyone could, you could. He wants you to win.”

It helped. It helped knowing that she wasn’t alone, that someone else thought she could help him. She would save him. She  _ would.  _ All she had to do was convince him. To show him, somehow, that there was worth in her world.

“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “It’s time for you to wake up, now.”

He stepped back. Ellana reached for his arm. “You’ll come back, won’t you? It’s been too long.”

He smiled again at that. “Yes.”

When she woke, Compassion was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo folks long time no see hope life is treating yall well
> 
> also FINALLY rowan is here!!! she is one of my faves yall will see why in later chapters like wow talk about incredible
> 
> also crying about cole i miss my son


	8. Chapter 8

On their return to Skyhold, Ellana Lavellan found herself swarmed with duties. About half of the alienage elves had agreed to come back with them rather than stay in Kirkwall and every one of them needed jobs and a place to stay. On top of that, the reports and documents that she needed to look at had piled up in her absence.

Fenris came up to her, once, while she explained the various duties available — every damn elf wanted to be a soldier, and none wanted to cook or farm or hunt, the things that actually needed to be done. 

“My friends have left,” he said with his back turned to the crowd. “As have a handful of others. I guess they didn’t find your speech as inspiring as I did.”

“They’re fools, then. It was a damn good speech.”

He smirked and left her to continue barking at them. Eventually, once just about everyone had a bed and a job, Alyaise found her and announced that Cullen had summoned the war council. 

She let out a long breath and hung her head for a moment. “Is one second of rest too much to ask for?”

“It seemed urgent,” she said. The elf flashed her an apologetic smile.

Two-thirds of her advisors waited for her in the war room. Her brows furrowed, pinching the scar that ran over her left eye. “Where’s Zevran?”

They exchanged a confused glance. “He said he had business to attend to. He didn’t tell you?” Cullen asked.

“What business?” Ellana’s nose crinkled up as she scowled.

“He did not say.”

The Inquisitor wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed— possibly both. Whatever she felt, there was no small degree of anxiety lost. The whole trip back she’d spent worried about confronting the elf again; she even had a speech constructed and ready for the next time she saw him.

But the fact that he mysteriously disappeared without telling anyone where he was going raised quite a few alarms. He was an assassin, and a spy, after all. Mystery often lead to deception, secrecy, lies. Betrayal.

“Inquisitor?”

They stared at her, expectantly, as if waiting for her to answer a question. “I’m sorry. What?”

Althea’s eyebrows pinched, but if Ellana’s lack of attention bothered her, she didn’t comment on it. “I’ve been trying to reach out to the Grey Wardens, but we’ve heard no response. I’ve tried several Warden-Commanders and even the Champion’s brother. While the other Warden Keeps have been abandoned, there have been reports that Weisshaupt fortress is being lived in, so it seems that they are simply ignoring us. Would you like for us to send messengers, perhaps?”

“No, leave them be. For now.”

“The Seekers remain tight-lipped on their duties, as well,” Cullen stated. “Her Most Holy has been trying to get information out of Cassandra but her efforts have gone unrecognized thus far.”

Ellana stifled a yawn. This part of being the Inquisitor was far from fun; she liked the fighting, the decision-making, the glorious purpose. Not the day-to-day funny little errands. “Thus far. Give it time.”

“Madame de Fer’s new Circle is quickly gathering support. In time, it will be as powerful as the College,” Althea commented. “She has asked for a public statement from the Inquisitor declaring her support, of course. And she has requested for Inquisition soldiers to act as guards for the mages.”

“No,” Ellana all but hissed.

“It is a sound request,” Cullen suggested. “The mages need—”

“The mages need  _ nothing _ . I will not have the Inquisition become templars again!”

He sighed. “I think having soldiers stationed in the building would be a good idea, just in case. For the mages’ sakes. Everyone is harmed when a mage gets possessed, or when a mage uses blood—”

“I said no. I did not free them only to return them to their cage. The mages will take care of themselves.” To Althea she said, “The Inquisition supports that mages have the freedom to choose between the two.”

Althea bobbed her head, scrawling on a piece of parchment. No doubt it would infuriate many people, Vivienne included, but the neutral stance was the best Ellana could do. She didn’t free the mages just to recreate the very institution she freed them from.

“Anything else?”

“There have been a few more attacks by the Qunari. All border cities, none essential, and none taken.”

Ellana grimaced. “What are they waiting for? Simply harassing towns doesn’t sound like their way; I always thought they went directly for the threat.”

“Usually, yes,” Cullen agreed. “But with their last attack in 9:12 being so thoroughly repulsed, they must be taking a more strategic route.”

“My clan has decided that they’ll settle a few miles south of here. My sister will remain, though, if that is alright with you.”

“Of course. How is she?”

“Better, today. I do have a letter from the Lady Morrigan.”

Ellana took the scroll, examining the black seal. There was no defining feature to it, though she assumed that could be the defining feature itself. There weren’t many wax-pressers to be found… well, wherever the witch was. “Do you two remember Rowan? From Kirkwall?”

Cullen flushed and Althea’s face pinched with sympathy. “Of course. What about her?”

“She came back with me from Kirkwall. She’s decided to join us.”

“She’s here?” Althea repeated, stunned. Her gaze flitted to the door, as if half-expecting the girl to come charging into the room. From what Ellana had gathered about Rowan, she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Somewhere. She slipped away while Fenris and I were helping the alienage elves.”

“I have nothing else. Do you?” Cullen shook his head, and Althea turned back to the Inquisitor. “Excuse me. I should speak with her.”

Althea gathered her dress and slipped from the room. Cullen crossed his arms. “I must confess, I don’t like this.”

She raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Which part?”

“Zevran is your spymaster. He shouldn’t be leaving on a whim.”

“I don’t much like it either,” she agreed, and his surprised expression clearly gave away that he thought she’d put up a fight.

“I don’t trust him,” Cullen said.  _ What else is new?  _ “He’s an assassin.”

“Formerly.”

“Whatever fancy title he wears now does not take away from the fact that he was, and forever will be, an assassin. The Hero of Ferelden trusted him, but those were different times. Thedas was in pressing danger. It still is, I’m not saying— It’s just, I’ve seen the way he is with you.”

She struggled to hide the guilty expression from her face. “He’s like that with everyone.”

Cullen pressed his lips together, shooting her a look that said  _ he’s not, and you know it. _ “Leliana’s reports label him as masters of both poison and seduction, and I don’t think it would be too far-fetched to assume that he plans to seduce you just to kill you.”

Ellana couldn’t help but laugh. “A  _ master _ of seduction?”

“Regardless.” He didn’t seem happy that she’d found it so amusing.

They headed for the throne room. “His intentions may not be entirely pure, but he has saved my life. He could have easily let that spy/assassin kill me and no one would be any wiser. From what Leliana has said, he was willing to die for the Hero. You don’t think I can inspire that same level of enthusiasm?”

He sighed. “I don’t think you’re taking it seriously.”

“I’ll speak with him when he returns,” she promised, touching her Commander’s armored shoulder before slipping into her room. She unstrapped the heavy gauntlet and started rubbing the stump. A fire already burned in the hearth.

She sat on the edge of the bed and opened Morrigan’s letter. 

 

_ Greetings Inquisitor. _

_ News of another Eluvian is intriguing, indeed. I am quite interested in how this Dalish pariah managed to just happen across one. It is thought-provoking, no? I assume by your lack of explanation you neither asked or did not care to share. ‘Tis no matter. _

_ I will help at your request, though I am loathe to share this project with another. I do not know how long it will take to restore, so please do refrain from asking. I will do my best to fix it quickly, that I promise you. _

_ There is another matter that I wish to speak with you about. Now that Solas’s plan has become apparent, I wondered the fate of Mythal. I have neither seen nor heard from her since we convened with her and Kieran in the Fade. I make no pretenses to know her, nor can I begin to imagine what thoughts she has, but I do wonder how much of her was the her that raised me, or if it were a mix of Flemeth and Mythal. _

_ Regardless, if what you say is true, then there is a more pressing matter: you drank from the Well.  _

 

Ellana’s heart sputtered. Her fingers clenched the letter. She hadn’t even thought of it: it was so long ago, and the memory of the promises she made when she drank that cool water had slipped her mind.

Mythal had puppeted her around without batting an eyelash. She still remembered the shakey, strange feeling, the taste of cloth in her mouth, of being inside and outside and all around all and trapped all at once. It was a nauseating feeling, not being in control of your own body. One that she had been slow to forget. 

She unfurled the letter, smoothing it out with shaking fingers against her leg. 

 

_ You are now bound to her will. If she deems to side with Solas, then is it not reasonable to assume that she will be able to control you as before? We have seen for ourselves what she is capable of. _

_ I would not be surprised if you had already come to this conclusion, but I thought I might remind you in case you had not and could take the necessary precautions to ensure that Mythal does not get her way. _

_ Farewell, _

_ Morrigan.  _

 

For a long moment, Ellana Lavellan sat frozen, listening to the wood in the fire pop and settle amongst the ashes. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, a thousand worst-case scenarios. All this time, she’d been putting everyone around her at risk. They’d all been in danger. If Mythal had controlled her, even once…

It sent chills down her spine, made her stomach tighten up in a terrible, aching kind of way. What if Mythal had already controlled her and made her forget? What if she’d been secretly taking them down this entire time, using the Inquisitor as her puppet, someone they would never begin to suspect?

_I have to tell Cullen,_ the Inquisitor thought. She had to. They needed to set precautions in place, as Morrigan suggested. As long as Mythal could potentially command her, they were all in danger. She had friends, a castle, an _army_ — every country, every noble in Thedas listened to her, some willingly obeyed her every command. It wouldn’t take much for the Evanuris to get what she wanted through her.

Ellana’s breaths came fast and hard. She felt frozen on the edge of her bed, staring without seeing at the fire. There had to be an option, some other option, but she could only see the one, and it was making her panic. She didn’t want to die.  _ I can’t tell Cullen.  _ Cullen was a Templar once. He hovered in the edges, ready to strike down his wards at any time. She didn’t want to be just another victim, just another corrupted person who fell into a demon’s clutches.

_ Talking will help you. They want to help you. _

She opened the pendant on her neck. Instantly, she was met with the sounds of some kind of social organization— there was a humming in the background as people milled about, talking amongst one another. Dorian’s laugh was close, and she heard another voice speaking with him.

“Dorian.”

“Excuse me a moment,” Dorian told his entourage before his voice came through again, much closer and whispered, “I’m in the middle of the Imperial Senate’s monthly gala, can it wait?”

She couldn’t breathe. “N- No.”

“Forgive me,” he said to someone. Heavy footsteps overlaid the chattering of the Senate members before fading into silence. A wooden door slammed shut, and she could tell he was now alone. “What is it? Is everything alright?”

The words were stuck in her throat. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. What would she do if she was possessed? What would they all do? Thedas wouldn’t stand a chance, not without her. Well, at least Solas wouldn’t.

“Ellana?” She could hear the worry in his voice.

She swallowed, hard, before she could manage to choke them out. “Remember the Well of Sorrows?”

“Big pool, lots of tall scary elves. Hard to forget.”

“I drank from it—” She broke off, taking in a ragged breath. All of it was hopeless, was all spinning way, way out of control. There was nothing that could be done, no way to undo this curse. Cullen couldn’t constantly watch her, and, even if he did, would he be able to know when it wasn’t her? What if Mythal could manipulate her without making it obvious?

“Dorian, there were  _ consequences _ ,” she whispered. She licked her lips, blinking until the tears finally fell from her eyes. She was pacing, now, and she couldn’t remember how or when she’d started. She stopped, swaying, and stared at the balcony curtains stirring in the breeze.

“What consequences? What is this about?”

“Drinking from the Well meant that I would be bound to Mythal’s will. I didn’t think it was a problem then but—”

“Are you? Does it actually work?”

“Yes,” she admitted in a tiny voice. “She can control me. She’s done it before.”

“Kaffa vas,” he whispered. 

He was quiet, and she sank down to the floor. Her back pressed to the wall. “I don’t know what to do. She can do whatever she wants with me, whenever, and if she sides with Solas—”

“We don’t know that. We don’t. She would be letting out her murderers, after all. That seems like too large a price to pay to restore the elves to their glory. There’s- There are options.”

“I can’t be alone anymore.”

“Ellana—”

“I can’t be trusted. I have an  _ army _ ; if she decides to make me her puppet, then I can lead thousands of my soldiers to their deaths.”

“Hypothetically. Most of this is conjecture. Who knows how long she can control you, or to what extent of power she has. There might even be a way to reverse it. We can fix this, Ellana.”

It was something. Hope. Blind hope, but she couldn’t take it from him. Hell, she wanted it to be true too. She wanted to believe him. Maybe they could find a way to free her from it. The only person who might know would be…

Solas. 

Naturally.

“There needs to be… precautions set in place. Just- Just in case.”

“No,” he said, quick and harsh. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t need to come to that. Maybe a mage would be able to counteract the magic. At least, to enough of an extent to balance it out. Not enough to undo the mind-control, but enough to hold you in place. What was it like when she took over?”

“I know you’re trying—”

“I’m not trying anything. I  _ am _ helping you. Please, humor me, and you can thank me later.”

She did, and they spent the rest of the night talking. They discussed possible ways to prevent it. She listened, at least tried to, as he explained the boring machinations behind the magic and the spell she was under. It was during one of those droning speeches that she finally fell asleep.

She was back in the forest. It was darker than usual, the leaves blotting the sun from filtering through. The trees seemed to go on for miles. A breeze blew through the trunks, stirring her hair and her clothes. For a moment, she was just content to watch, entranced by the branches’ gentle swaying.

Someone was watching her. 

The hair on the back of her neck rose. She turned, and there he was. His pelt was jet black in the shade, eyes glowing a soft blue and focused on her.

Did he know about Mythal?

She dashed the thought from her mind. The Fade was shaped by the thoughts and consciousness of the dreamer: she didn’t want to give anything away. Instead, she stood, too fast. Her head spinning, she all but fell against a nearby tree.

“You won’t believe who joined the Inquisition. I would ask you to guess, but since you’re still hell-bent on ignoring me I suppose I’ll just tell you.” She shot him a tilted smile, hoping that might convince him to speak. Instead, he remained silent, with only his head raised to show that he was listening. She crossed her arm and leaned against the tree. “Hawke’s lover. She hates me and joined just to make sure I don’t ‘fuck anything else up’. And I quote.”

If a wolf could smile, it would appear similar to the way Solas looked at her now. His jaws were parted, revealing long rows of sharp white teeth, eyes crinkled up as he watched her.

The words clung to her tongue as her laughter faded. She didn’t know what she could say that he didn’t already know, what she could say that he wouldn’t run away from. She didn’t know what would change his mind.

“I spoke to Cole last night,” she said, quickly, to keep herself from saying any number of inadvisable things. “I didn’t realize how much I missed him or how much I miss y— all of you.” The wolf looked away; at least she managed to catch herself, though it was blatantly obvious what she had meant. 

But why? What did it matter? He knew, she knew— They were just playing games, ridiculously walking on ice around one another.

“I miss you,” she confessed in a sudden rush, stepping towards him. His head swung to her before he shut his eyes and angled away as her words cut into him. “I miss  _ you _ , ma vhenan. I want you to come back. I want you to give up this whole stupid, insane plan and come home. There are others that miss you too. Cole, and Dorian, even though you fought a lot. They all respected you. Except maybe Sera, but that’s just Sera.

“This is all too big; it’s bigger than you, and you know it. You won’t survive this. Even if you do miraculously manage to pull down the Veil: then what? You’re going to fight the Evanuris yourself? With your  _ Dalish _ army? You’re going to do what you couldn’t do thousands of years ago when you had all the powers of the Fade to back you? You  _ must _ see how foolish this is!”

She knew it was coming, as soon as he opened his eyes and met her gaze. It was different now, his expression, and he pushed up to his feet. His eyes were darker, menacing almost. She might have been afraid if she didn’t know him.

“Don’t you dare, Solas.” Her warning came out in a strained whisper as her lips pulled up in a snarl. “Do  _ not _ do it. Just because you don’t like what I’m saying, because it’s  _ right, _ you don’t—”

She woke with a start, sucking in a sharp breath as she sat up. For a second, there was a sharp pain in her back, and she groaned as her muscles pinched and pulled. She’d fallen asleep sitting up against the wall.

“Good morning,” Dorian greeted, overly cheerful for the early hour. “I hope you slept well. Oh, how did I sleep? Marvelous, thank you for asking. Oh wait— that’s right. I didn’t. I was up all night, slaving away at finding some cure for you, while you dreamt of puppies and rainbows and a certain handsome Tevene magister.”

Though she was freezing, heat rushed to her cheeks as the anger from her dream carried over.  _ Stupid _ Solas. He couldn’t bear to hear the truth, so he just ran away. Like a coward. That was  _ not _ the man she knew. The man she had loved was brave, and noble, and—

“You were talking in your sleep, you know. Mostly nonsense. I did catch a few words; I even heard my name. I do hope you weren’t gossiping about me to those spirit friends of yours.”

She went to push her hair back, but nothing happened. Of course. Bile rose in her mouth; how long would it take before this would stop? This endless cycle of forgetting and waking up and remembering again was as draining as it was vindictive and cruel.

Dorian’s voice filtered through the crystal again, much softer this time as he recognized her silence. “Are you alright?”

She wanted to tell him. She almost did, the words almost coming out before she could stop them. But she couldn’t. No one could know, not even him. “Just a bad dream,” she said before standing. All of her muscles had stiffened, and she was shivering.

“Talk to me,” he urged.

“I would rather you talk about something. To get my mind off it.”

“Well, I didn’t find much in my research. Of course, I’ve only just begun so I wouldn’t give up on me yet. It does bear a striking resemblance to blood magic, minus the blood, though. Regardless, I believe I might go speak with an expert on the subject.”

Ellana hovered near the fire, letting the warmth slowly seep back into her bones. “You have a magister friend who practices blood magic? Isn’t that besides the whole point of your Lucerni?”

“I wouldn’t call him a magister, per se, though he longs to be one. Quite the scandal, he is. If it weren’t for Bull, we might do more than simply discuss your issue.”

She snorted. “Do you trust him?”

He let out a huff. “Honestly, I’m insulted. I won’t tell him the  _ truth, _ obviously.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake.”

They continued chatting as she dressed. She warned him when she was leaving her room, and he effortlessly changed the subject, talking instead about the Senate’s poor taste in the food they served at meetings.

Her guards clanked behind her, shadowing her every step. Once she got to the gate, she turned to face the soldiers, tucking her sleeve up and tying a string around it so it wouldn’t flop as she ran. Alyaise was working on fixing the left sleeves on all of her shirts — considering how she no longer needed one — but it was taking some time for her to get to all of them.

“I’m just going for a run,” she told them, waving to a soldier who began to raise the gate. It creaked and groaned as one of her guards took off his helm. She smiled. “Nathaniel! I see you got your promotion.”

“You shouldn’t go off alone, Herald.”

Naturally. Because normally she was with Zevran. She put a hand on her hip, glancing over her shoulder at the green mountainside. “You won’t be able to keep up with all that armor on.”

“The Commander’s orders.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And who gives the Commander his orders?”

The human scrunched up his face as the rising sun glinted into his eyes. Neither of them answered that, and while Ellana supposed she could find someone to go running with her, she wouldn’t want to be slowed down. So, she relented, running around the battlements instead. It was terrible, full of obstacles and slowly more and more people as they began to wake. 

With her day becoming steadily worse, she gave up, stretching instead. It was boring training alone. She talked to anyone who would come near, bending into strange unfamiliar shapes while chatting about politics, or various duties, and listening to the gossip and rumors currently flying around Skyhold. Supposedly, the Empress’s secret lover, Briala, was planning the assassination of the Empress’s current lover, the Divine. The ‘foul-mouthed blonde’ (Rowan) had Cabot at the end of his already fraying rope having drank most of his ale last night. The Antivan spymaster had already taken two lovers, on top of his paramour back in Antiva City.

On a less ridiculous note, Ellana heard much and more controversy over the Divine’s new laws. She had passed another not long ago that allowed all races to be elected into priesthoods. Some had even caught wind of a few rebellious sects growing in the west. When pressed, however, they were quick to claim that the sects were only limping on.

It was while she was talking to the new horsemaster when a stallion came pounding into the hold. The rider reined up hard, the horse throwing its head and whinnying as it pranced to a stop. The beast was slick with sweat, eyes showing whites as it foamed at the mouth.

Zevran, she realized. He caught her eye as he trotted over, grinning from ear to ear.

“You bastard,” the horsemaster spat, charging the man as he stopped in front of them. “Who do you think you are, stealing my horses in the dead of night?”

“Ah, but are they your horses, truly? I was under the impression that they belonged to the Inquisitor. And do not be so dramatic; I only took one horse, and it was hardly the dead of night.” He dismounted in a quick, graceful leap, passing the reins to the red-faced human. He turned to the Inquisitor, a hand resting over his heart. “Lady Herald, it has been too long! I had forgotten how beautiful you are. A crime, I know.”

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

His eyebrows raised. “Straight to the point, then? It has been too long, truly; my absence has made you cruel.”

She turned to the guard that wasn’t Nathaniel. “Get Cullen to meet us in the war room.”

“That will not be necessary,” Zevran quickly intervened. “We must hurry. There is no time for another of those terribly droll meetings.”

In his absence, she’d forgotten how careless and aggravating he could be. Added to her already bad mood and his still unexplained trip and the fact that she had practiced for days now the Speech she was going to give him and here they were prattling about other things, it infuriated her. “You will tell me where you have been and why you told no one.”

“I can tell you just as easily on the—”

“Now.” He quieted, and she shooed Nathaniel away. At least, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. 

Zevran followed her to a small space next to the stables, far from prying ears. “I heard tale of a small company of elves guarding a cavern not two day’s ride from here. You were gone, and time was of the essence —  _ still _ is, may I point out — so I rode to investigate.”

There were so many things to comment on that Ellana wasn’t sure where to start. Instead, she focused on the matter at hand. “What did you find?”

“A small company of elves guarding a cavern. There were a dozen outside, and who knows how many more inside. I could have taken them, but, alas, I thought of how you would mourn if I were to die, and thought I should come back for reinforcements.”

Her stomach tightened into a knot. Had they honestly found it, after not even a year of searching? “Do you think it could be…?”

“That is a possibility, yes.”

“What are they waiting for?”

“Reinforcements? The Wolf himself? Impossible to tell. Though we should hurry back while they are still there.”


	9. Chapter 9

Althea Fallaviel was the only thing that held their fragile group together. Ellana found herself blessing the girl several times over as she repeatedly distracted the insolent human with idle talk.

Rowan, at any given time, seemed to either be sulking or livid. She either rode at the back of the party, furious eyes trained on Ellana’s back, or was at the Inquisitor’s side, throwing threats and insults. And when it wasn’t her and Rowan, it was Zevran and Rowan. The elf soon had her at his throat too, though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to irritate the girl.

Thankfully, Althea never failed to be able to diffuse that situation as well.

Appearances be damned, she should have brought Cullen. She’d wanted to, but Solas’s spies would be no doubt suspicious if the Inquisitor brought her Commander as well as a retinue of her best fighters. She couldn’t risk the elves spooking and running away with the orb.

If it was the orb, of course.

So, instead she’d brought the smallest but strongest company she could manage. And Zevran, who was the only one who knew where the elves were. He insisted that they could make it in a little over a day if they rode their horses hard, but she’d opted for the slow and steady approach. She was expecting a fight, and if they were overwhelmed, they would need fast horses so that they could grab the orb and run.

_ If it is the orb. _

They rode day and night, drifting off in the saddle when they got the chance. By the time the sun had risen on the second day, Rowan was too tired to fight with them any longer. She even left the assassin be, grunting off his insults and smart comments.

It wasn’t long after dawn that Zevran dismounted. They followed him through the underbrush. The rogues took the lead, while Althea tried to get Rowan to quiet down. She seemed to only put her feet down on sticks, and she made such a commotion that it would be a miracle if those back in Skyhold didn’t hear her. 

Her and Zevran crouched in a fern, peeking between the branches at the cave sitting no further than a hundred paces away. At first glance, it seemed to be unguarded, but Ellana managed to pick out the company off to one side. The elves had painted the skins of their tents green and brown to blend in with the foliage and wore dark brown cloaks whose hoods shadowed their faces. 

She glanced back at Rowan and Althea, who waited at the bottom of the overhang. She flashed ten fingers, then three more, and the women nodded. Rowan took the massive battleaxe off her back and started creeping to the side.

Ellana dipped her fingers into the mud and smeared it across her face. Using the fern and part of a tree as cover, she took a knee and took aim. Her arrow found its mark, embedding in the throat of the largest elf there. He made a gasping noise as he tumbled backwards, hand twitching as he died.

Before the company realized what had happened, another elf was down. This one was a mage, with long white hair braided over her shoulder. They rose to their feet, then, shouting and grabbing weapons. One of the nearer ones turned, scanning the tree line for her, and she aimed her arrow between his eyes.

And stopped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rowan charging through the trees. Zevran had disappeared, and Althea was raising her staff. 

“No!” Ellana shouted, sliding down the overhang and running into the clearing. For a moment, everyone froze, confused. She raised her good hand into the air. “Stop!”

Solas’s elves poured into the space, weapons pointed toward her. She swallowed and took a tentative step back, wondering if she’d made yet another one of her iconic, reckless mistakes. She looked for other familiar faces. There was one, and then another. They were distant and vague, but she knew the Dalish elves standing before her.

Her eyes found the first one again. “We don’t have to fight.”

“You started it!” a woman shouted.

They were only looking at her; they didn’t know about the rest of them yet. For right now, she was the only threat. The first elf’s brow dipped in confusion, head tilting to the side as he stared. And then his eyes widened with recognition, and he pushed his hood back in one, swift movement. “Ellana?” he asked.

A small, pained smile flickered across her face. Gelhen’s blonde hair was as long as ever, framing his face and brushing against his shoulders. She used to tease him about it, tried even a few times to braid it, though she had always been terrible.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know her?” someone demanded.

“What are we waitin’ for?  _ Kill _ her already!”

There were sounds of agreement, before Gelhen raised his arm at them. “Would you all shut up? This is Ellana  _ Lavellan _ .”

Silence fell across the group, uncomfortable and awkward. Some of the older ones shifted their feet, avoiding her gaze. He looked back at her. “I heard about your clan. I’m sorry.”

“The Inquisitor?” someone whispered.

“ _ Creators _ .”

“What is she doing here?!”

“As am I. Why are you here, lethallan?”

The expression he wore was guarded, mistrustful, wary. But there was a glimmer of… of something, of days that had long since past, of clans mingling during Arlathvhen. “You don’t have to fight him, you know. He only wants to save us.”

Red-hot fury bubbled in her gut.  _ He takes and he takes and he takes.  _ “He will sacrifice you. You are only a means to an end.”

“You’ve spent too long with your precious shems,” he said and spat. A similar anger danced across his face. “You’ve forgotten us,  _ lethallin _ .”

There was a stretching noise as a nearby elf pulled his bow taut. “Let’s finish this.”

Shouts of disapproval arose from the group. Gelhen turned to his friend, furious. “No! You know what Fen’Harel said!”

…  _ What? _

She froze as the elves continued to argue, staring at the way his armor stretched and pulled across his elbow.  _ You know what Solas said _ . What did he say? Did he really tell his warriors not to hurt her? Had he known she was coming? Was that just something he told everyone when they joined: don’t harm the Inquisitor? “What?” she whispered.

Gelhen did a double-take, casting a quick glance at her before returning his attention to the other elf. “Kill this bitch and there’ll be no one in our way to stop us.” He stretched the bow further. She stared at the tip of the arrow, the dull metal still looking wickedly sharp, pointed at the bridge of her nose. 

“Hey, I said  _ no _ ,” he said, shoving the bow away. The string  _ twanged _ , and the arrow embedded into the dirt next to her feet. It jolted her out of her daze as chaos erupted. Everyone was screaming and everyone was fighting and people were flying at her. Her fingers stumbled grabbing her arrows, shaking so hard at first that she barely managed to fell the first one running at her. 

The one following was too close; there wasn’t time. She snatched the knife from her belt, going low when he aimed high and stabbing her blade into his belly. She turned as he did, staring at the hilt. His pain turned into anger, and she was still stringing an arrow when he charged her again.

She crouched down, ready to spin away, but a dagger came flying over her head. It sank into his throat, and he gargled while he fell, hot blood splashing across her face. She fell to a knee as she turned, Zevran only stopping long enough to wink before dancing back into the fight.

Just as quickly as it had started, it was over. Ellana ran and kneeled over Gelhen, the tip of an arrow resting against his throat. His face was cut up and bruised, blood trickling into his swollen eye. He scowled at her.

“What did he say?” she demanded.

“You’ve — forsaken us,” he panted. She could feel his hands next to her knee, pressing down on a wound in his belly. He was dying. “He’s going to — save us.”

_ Why did he have to die? Why did everyone have to die?  _ He wasn’t the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. He was just another name on an ever-growing list of Solas’s victims. So many innocent people. So many of her friends, her family— She was doomed to watch them all die, all of them, and still she couldn’t find it in herself to hate him. “What did he say?” she repeated through gritted teeth, her voice shrill as her eyes burned.

“Just let me die,” he said, raising his head and pushing against the arrowhead.

“Come with me. We can heal you.”

“Never,” he hissed, and she let the arrow fly.

Her head hung as she remembered strawberries and hot summer nights and long, breathy kisses. His laughs were few and far between — such a solemn boy, even then — but that only made them all the more beautiful when she finally coaxed one out.  _ Rare things are always the most beautiful _ , he’d told her once.

“Inquisitor?”

She didn’t bother to face them before continuing into the cave. Her fingers were itching for a fight, and she was desperate for revenge, for some sort of justice to be restored.

The top levels of the cave were empty, full of nothing but giant spider corpses and cobwebs. Her friends stepped slowly behind her, their footsteps whispering across the stone floors. Except for Rowan, who clanked with every step, but kept her distance for that very same reason.

As they descended, though, some of the guards began to make themselves known. Ellana managed to pick them off before they could get close. She did slip past one without realizing it, but when the warrior lunged out to attack, Zevran slipped his dagger beneath their chin and laid them out on the ground. Ellana nodded, breathless, and he offered her a smirk.

The cave grew more Elven the further they went, the soft dirt walls and root-infested ceilings giving way to smooth, grey stone. Veilfire burned in sconces along the twisting halls, it’s eerie green light flickering across the carvings.

For a moment, Ellana feared they were lost. They hadn’t seen any elves in some time, and each of the corridors looked the same. But still she pushed on; there was a reason Solas wanted the cave.

The floor sloped away from them and the ceiling arched up high as they came into a large chamber. It was a little smaller than her throne room, as wide as it was long, with elaborate paintings covering the walls. Curves were cut into the wall, making half-moon circles that had big, stone coffins pushed against them.

The time that had passed could be seen in this room; some of the ceiling had caved in, rocks and debris scattered over most of one side. It was on those rocks that the elvhen guards rested. At the sight of them, they rose. 

Ellana took care of the archers before they had a chance to move. A knife was thrown at Rowan but only bounced off the shimmering barrier Althea threw up. The fight was over in a few seconds, with Rowan bashing in the head of the last elf on a nearby wall. 

“Well,” Zevran chirped. “This is disappointing.”

“Check all of these tombs,” Ellana said. Most of them had already been pushed open, the large rectangular slab that had covered them resting on the floor beside them. They went to work checking the open ones. 

There was a tomb directly opposite of the entrance, with an elaborate statue that looked disturbingly like it was supposed to be in some Evanuris likeness. If she had to guess, it would be one of the twins. Dark and twisted and secretive, it struck a chord of unease in her chest.

Maybe it was one of their orbs.

She climbed the few steps to the raised dais, running a hand over the top of the slab. She could feel that it was indented, like once there had been words carved into the surface but they had long since faded. She tried to feel the meaning of them, like she had with other ancient elven carvings, but she was only met with darkness.

They all helped move the slab off, and Ellana felt her heart plummet as it turned out to actually be a tomb. There was no orb, only an elven man lying in a bed of white sheets.

“Wha’ the  _ shit _ -” Rowan demanded, stumbling back down the dais in shock.

“It’s an elf,” Althea said. She stepped to the side, wide lilac eyes staring at him in wonder.

“Wha’s wrong with him?”

“He’s in Uthenera,” Ellana answered. Dark vallaslin covered his face, a tribute to Dirthamen. She glanced at the healer. “Do you know how to wake him?”

“I would suggest shaking him,” Zevran said from the floor.

Althea only shrugged, so Ellana leaned over the tomb and touched a shoulder. There was no response. Althea took his other shoulder and gave him a good shake.

“Should we see if he wakes on his own?” Althea asked, eyebrows knitted up in worry. “I am afraid forcing him to wake might cause harm.”

“Is he even alive?” Rowan asked.

Ellana held her hunting knife over his mouth, pulling it back only when the steel fogged from his breath. “We could rest here.”

Zevran looked at the roof. “The Maker is a kind man, indeed.” He flopped onto his back without another word, knotting his hands under his head and closing his eyes.

“But we can’t stay long. We can’t risk being trapped by reinforcements.” They won’t hurt her, of course. They’ll kill her friends, but she’s not to be harmed. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Rowan uncomfortably sat against one of the tombs, letting her chin tuck into her chest. It didn’t take long before she was snoring, and Zevran’s chest only rose every-so-often as his breaths slowed. 

Ellana sat against the sleeping elf’s tomb, while Althea laid her head in the crook of an elbow at the bottom of the stairs. After a moment, the golden-haired woman looked up at the Inquisitor. “He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

“Once,” she said, her stomach churning. She wanted to take off the bow, but she didn’t want to be caught unawares.

“You loved him.”

Ellana could only nod, swallowing the lump in her throat. His blood was still on her hand, splashed across her leather jerkin. It had dried by now, staining her pale freckled skin, making rubbing it off pointless. It had been a long time ago, and their affair had been too short to mean anything. But they’d met at Arlathvhen, the meeting of Dalish clans every ten years where they share knowledge. He’d been a hunter as well, the first person outside of her clan that she’d ever really known.

“Ir abelas,” Althea said, and Ellana nodded again. She laid her head back down, and Ellana cupped her face. She let out a long, ragged breath, knuckling at her cheeks. While they rested and she waited for the elf to wake, she rubbed the mud from her face.

Without the stars or the moon, it was impossible to tell the time. The closeness of the walls started to creep up on her as well, and it wasn’t long before she felt trapped. The air was stale, making it harder to breathe by the second.

It was better if she closed her eyes. So, she closed them, and soon enough found herself getting drowsy listening to Rowan’s snores and Althea’s quiet breaths.

She was drifting off when he woke. A loud, dramatic gasp jarred her, and she nearly fell scrambling up to his side. His eyes locked on hers, chest heaving and sputtering for air. She reached out to touch him, to calm him, but that only seemed to make him more distraught.

He flinched away. “Do not touch me!” he demanded in ancient Elven, his voice hoarse from not being used for thousands of years. She retracted her hand and disgust flickered across his face. “What are you doing here?” He could only manage a rough whisper, and he licked his lips. “Who let you in here? Guards!” His voice broke and he croaked. “ _ Guards _ !”

“Easy, my friend,” Ellana returned in the same language. “This is a safe place. You are welcome here.”

He tried to sit up, but she pushed his shoulder back down. It only made him angrier. “ _ Stop _ ; I command you to cease!”

“It has been a very long time. You should not move so quickly.”

“I will not suffer to be touched by a Faceless.”

Faceless? The elf had Dirthamen’s markings; perhaps that was what he meant. Ellana stepped back and waved Althea forward, letting her take her spot. “Greetings, friend. You are in a safe place.”

“Who are you? Why is one who belongs to Sylaise here? Why do you have a—” He broke off, and Ellana peeked over the top of the tomb. His dark knuckles had paled, gripping onto the sheets. He looked around with wide and panicked eyes. “What is wrong? Is this normal? I feel… wrong, all over. Distant. Far. Why is the magic so weak here?”

Confused, Althea looked to Ellana, who translated. Althea looked back at the man. “This a safe place.” Much of the language wasn’t so much as wrong as it was simply incomplete. But Althea knew enough to get by. At least for the time being. “You sleep for long. Much has happened.”

Althea reached down and slowly helped him sit up. He was weak and far skinnier than what was healthy; he was skin and bones and not much else. As she was helping him to stand, he gripped her arm. “You must tell me what has happened with Fen’Harel. Have we lost? Take me to Dirthamen.”

“Quiet,” Althea said to him, and Zevran and Ellana helped her set him on the ground. He sat down and leaned against the tomb. His robes were thin and moth-eaten, and he panted, worn out from even that little exertion. 

He started at the sight of Zevran before turning narrowed eyes to Althea. “You bear the marks of Sylaise, but you are no child of hers. You would not dare bring two Faceless here.”

“Things have changed much while you’ve been away,” Ellana explained. “There is no such thing as Faceless anymore. We’re here to help you.”

“Quiet. You hurt.” Althea pointed at her throat.

The ancient elf stared at Ellana with mistrust, his dark gaze hard. She angled her head to Rowan, who helped him slowly stand. His legs gave out at first, and it took quite some time before they managed to get him to stand, let alone walk. When they did start to cross the chamber, he stared at the crumbling temple in horror, not giving the dead bodies a second glance. Of course, they didn’t have vallaslin, so he no doubt didn’t care. 

“What has happened?”

“Rest your voice.”

They had to stop in one of the passageways right outside the room. He couldn’t go any further. He slumped against the wall, and before they had time to take a breath, he let out a huge, shuddering sob.

“Annnnd now he cries,” Zevran said.

“Andraste’s bloody ashes.” Rowan stalked away, shaking her head in disgust.

“It is alright.” Althea crouched beside him and took his hand. Her fingers glowed as she worked her magic, healing his aches. “This is a safe place. Do not be afraid.”

“Where is Dirthamen? He will not lie to me as you do.”

Ellana kneeled in front of him, and his teary eyes slowly met hers. “A lot has happened, and you will not like what I tell you. I could tell you now, but we have a two day ride before we return to my hold. I could tell you then, if you would like.”

“Wha’ the hell are they goin’ on about?” Rowan demanded, towering over them. “Speak in common.”

“He only knows ancient Elven,” Ellana snapped in the common tongue before turning her attention back to the elf. “I shall tell you once we return.”

“What language is that?” he asked, gaze nervously taking in the hulking human. “Where did she learn it?”

“She has always known it. She does not know our language.”

His eyes grew wide. “Is she one of the quicklings? Allow me to see your ears,” he commanded.

Ellana looked up at Rowan, who raised her eyebrows and spread her arms. “He wants to see your ears.”

“The fuck does he wanna see my ears for? Because they aren’t pointy?” She shoved her mess of dirty blonde curls back. “There? Happy now? Andraste’s  _ tits _ .” She stalked off down the passageway, and Althea followed her in an attempt to calm the woman.

“What is your name?” Ellana asked. Distrust flickered across his face. “My name is Ellana Lavellan. This is Zevran Arainai, and Althea Fallaviel, and Rowan Smallwood.” She pointed at each in turn.

“Mathras,” he answered after a long moment. 

“We should not linger,” Zevran said. “Too much longer, and whatever the Wolf’s guards were waiting for might show.”

“What if it’s him?” she asked, spewing the thoughts as soon as they surfaced. Hope shined in her eyes as she looked up at the Antivan. “What if they were waiting for Solas? He could be…”

His lip curled into a smile, though it was far different from the usual, dazzling sort. This one was sad, pitying almost, and his amber eyes were pinched. “If he does not already know, the corpses in the forest will dissuade him. If it is him.”

“Fen’Harel? The Dread Wolf?” The elf’s skeleton-like fingers dug into her arm, eyes wide with the beginnings of panic. “He is coming?”

“I could— I could hide the bodies!”

“There is no time, and he is not so easily fooled.”

She slammed her hand down on the stone, ignoring the sharp sting. “Damnit,” she snapped, quick to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm down. “I need to talk to him. If I could just see him—”

The ancient elf stared at her in realization, then his eyes narrowed in disgust. He pushed her with all his feeble might. “Are you one of his?” he demanded.

She met Zevran’s gaze again, pleading, desperate. There had to be a way, something that could be done…

But he was right. Solas was, ultimately, a genius. He would know something was wrong far before he made it to the cave, and even if he did get near enough for them to speak, it would be for naught. He would leave before she would get a chance. 

“Tell me,” Mathras commanded. “Do you belong to Fen’Harel?”

His sneer, on top of her irritation at their situation, on top of her grief of losing a friend, was just a little too much. “Absolutely not,” she snapped, her voice a little too harsh. She gritted her teeth and slung one of Mathras’s arms around her shoulders. He leaned against her as they hurried from the cave and out into the frigid air. Rowan and Althea had the horses ready, and she set him down near them.

They worked to help him up onto a mount while Ellana moved back to the elf’s corpse. She hooked a hand under his armpit and dragged him away. It was difficult and slow-moving work, each root and rock threatening to snap them to a stop.

“We should go, Inquisitor,” Zevran warned.

She ignored the assassin. She owed him this much. This much, she would give him. When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to give it up, Zevran took hold of his ankles. Together, they carried him a short distance away and worked at digging a shallow grave.

Dirt clung to her hands, staining the lines of her palms and getting stuck under her nails. Gently, she dug a small bed for a nearby acorn on top of the grave.

“Is that it?” Zevran asked.

Ellana performed the funeral rite, saying the passage herself, though the words were nearly as empty and hollow as she felt. She had to grab onto her cloak to keep her hand from shaking.

The journey back to Skyhold didn’t take half as long as they’d expected. They pushed their horses this time, only slowing to a walk when they dozed in the saddles during the night. They did not stop.

Mathras, over his sudden bout of theatrics in the cave, was sullen and silent. She could tell he was forcibly holding his tongue, and when she announced that they weren’t stopping to rest, the conflict he felt was visible. But he did not trust them, and there was a part of him that was mourning still. He had been in the Fade for all these years, and he knew at least some of what happened. Though she could only imagine how difficult it was for him to come to terms with it.

Whenever she tried to talk to him about it though, he ignored her. After a while, he gave it up, and she focused on hurrying back to the keep.

When they arrived at Skyhold, they found it in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for angst, yay for new friends, and yay for sassy zev!!!
> 
> and most importantly: yay for cliffhangers (-:


	10. Chapter 10

Sleep did not come easily to Cullen Rutherford. The ex-Templar found himself pacing more often than resting, thoughts rushing through his head so quickly and so unfiltered that it was near deafening. Add that in with the demons he constantly kept at bay, sleep was practically a foreign concept to him.

Ellana helped. For the longest time, he thought her clear reliance on him was one-sided. However, time had proven a different tale. It turned out that while he brought her strength, she brought him peace.

The pup had long since grown used to his restlessness, having no problem slobbering all over the couch while Cullen silently warred with himself.

Fourteen years and still the events that transpired at the Circle of Magi hung heavy over him. He had been so quick to damn them all, to beg the Hero to slaughter them. Even the  _ children _ . For years after, he hadn’t even seen the problem with it. It was a price that had to be paid; those that died in the crossfire would be mourned, but at least the threat would be neutralized.

His anger was the scariest part. He should have despaired, should have felt some sort of grief knowing that his wards that he’d watched and protected and cared for were dying. Instead, he was only furious at what they’d done to him. He’d seen the dangers of demons firsthand and had quickly put the blame on every mage.

Maker, he hadn’t considered them  _ people _ . They were just explosives to him. Inevitably, they would all go off, decimating everyone around them. He thought that killing them or locking them up was the only way. He’d thought it was the Maker’s will. Magic was meant to serve man, not rule over him, after all. 

It wasn’t until Kirkwall that he started to realize how irrational his thinking was. For a while, he went along with everything Meredith had said. She’d strung him along, and he’d fallen right into her dangerous ideals. And then when it was revealed that she was out of her mind, it frightened him. It frightened him to know that for years he thought she was in the right. But everything she thought, everything she fought for— it was wrong and delusional and insane.

He was wrong.

She still did not know, after years of them working together. The other advisors knew; Leliana and Zevran had even been there.

But the Inquisitor still was not aware of the desperate, vengeful plea he’d uttered in a moment of weakness. Though he tried to tell himself he had no ill intentions, that it was just because he hadn’t found the right moment, he couldn’t deny the glaringly obvious truth: he was afraid. The Herald of Andraste was a beacon of hope, of second chances; she was sent from the Maker Himself. Time and time again she’d proved herself as a font of mercy and redemption, while he’d been the opposite. He’d worked for everything except freedom, been an agent of stripping away free will and equality.

If she could not forgive him, was it not a sign from the Maker that he was not forgiven?

_ I did not free them only to return them to their cage.  _ Her scathing words burned in his mind, and he could still hear her fury. Sometimes her anger at the injustices in the world boiled until it overflowed, leaving nothing intact in her path.

He was not hiding the truth. Only waiting for the right moment.

He rubbed his brow and let out a long sigh. Pacing a hole into his floor would do him little good, especially when the Inquisitor wasn’t even there. She was still investigating whatever it was that Zevran had found. Or, claimed to have found. The assassin was another matter entirely, one that was never far from his mind.

Sometimes it was infuriating how much trust she had in others, how much faith she had. He’d experienced first hand, twice, what it was like to lose faith in humanity. He’d seen the best and the worst the world had to offer, and it scared him to his very core that Ellana could be as naive as he once was. 

And yet… There was a part of him that envied her. He wanted to return to that, to thinking that people were inherently good and righteous and meant well. But he couldn’t.

The pup raised his head and growled at the door. Cullen furrowed his eyebrow and neared the mabari. “What is–”

The first explosion made him lose his balance. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the pup barked and jumped to his feet.

The second knocked him to the ground.

People began to shout, slow and stunned at first before it turned into blood-curdling screams as the truth of the matter hit them all: they were under attack. He could hear steel ringing on steel, cries of anguish as they died.

Cullen snatched up his sword and shield as a messenger burst into his office. She sputtered out words as he rushed out onto the battlements. The guards were still half-asleep, panicked and whirling around for the enemy.

What wasn’t burning had already been reduced to rubble. Smoke filled the air, stinging his eyes and lungs, making it hard to see. Whoever was attacking had powerful magic indeed. As he charged down the stairs, he felt the ground shake once again, halted as massive Qunari warrior jumped in front of him. The messenger squeaked, and Cullen stumbled. Pup sank his teeth into the soldier’s leg, and Cullen quickly rammed his sword between his ribs before shoving him over the edge of the wall.

“Have there been any demands?” He had to shout to be heard over the panicked screams. The messenger just shook her head, and Cullen shoved the axe that their attacked had dropped into her hands.

Something exploded near him; it took all of his skill to only stumble and not fall. Ash and debris rained through the sky, filling his mouth with a bitter taste as he lunged at the nearest Qunari.

Questions that he might have wondered were pushed from his mind. There was no time to worry about those now; his world shrank down to the soldiers in front of him, the nearest Qunari. His world became nothing but shrieks and screeches, growls and shouts, the flash of light across a blade and the rushed breath of a person who had breathed their last.

When the immediate area was cleared, he shouted for guards, soldiers, anyone. He directed them to look for survivors, to help the children and the elderly and take them somewhere safe.

He saw Fenris then, holding his massive greatsword in one hand, his other curled around an elven child with the same pale-gold hair as Althea: the sister. As he was sprinting towards the dungeon, a gaatlok barrel went off near him. He shielded the girl with his body, ducking against the wall. If it injured him, he didn’t act like it, for her was off almost immediately after it’d exploded.

Cullen pulled a nearby child to their feet, handing them off to a passing soldier with orders to follow the former slave.

_ The hold cannot fall.  _ It couldn’t. The Commander knew his chances, knew that their fates were grim, and was furious with himself and with his guards and Zevran and Leliana’s spies for not seeing this sooner.  _ Skyhold is the home of the Inquisition _ , he thought as he cut down a Qunari assassin, a lithe thing, small by Qunari standards but still as large as he was.  _ It cannot fall. If we fall, we die. _

Gather the forces and attack. That was all that could be done. Skyhold could withstand any assault, from the outside. From within was another story. What few soldiers he could find were flocking to his sides, and he banged his sword on his shield and shouted for more.

As the tavern was levelled by a fiery blast, his group was swarmed by Qunari. Cullen found himself toe-to-toe with a saarebas. The monstrous creature was by far the largest of the horned race that he had ever seen, with blood dripping from its hands and stitches pulled taut over its lips. Magicka crackled over its fingertips, but Cullen was quick to slice at them. He managed to get a few fingers, but another hand came sweeping down to his side.

It was met with a shield, and he had his templar training and weaponry to thank when the electricity crackled over the metal but stopped at the rubber handle, offering him no harm. The jolt of it did jar him, though, forcing him to grind his teeth as a violent tremor shuddered up into his jaw.

He readjusted his grip while the saarebas flipped backwards to put distance between them. The pup ran at it, but the beast waved a hand. The dog rolled away in the strong gust of wind. Cullen charged it, angling his shield just a bit down as the stream of fire hit it. The heat curled against his face, and he shouted as he beat through its defenses to ram the sword into its neck. He yanked, cutting a gaping hole in its throat and letting the beast fall. 

He didn’t see the assassin. But that was the entire point of an assassin, he supposed. The blade nicked his thigh, his side, his shield arm before he even knew what was happening. He swung in a circle, enraged as he felt the hot blood pour from his wounds, wetting his tunic and breeches. The assassin was just as small as the last one, though a good deal faster. Their blade was nothing more than a blur; the most warning he could get was the firelight glinting off the weapon before he felt a stab of pain.

Finally, the assassin went in for the killing blow, but pup reappeared out of the chaos to rip a hole in their throat. Cullen limped away from the dying assailant, nearly choking on the black smoke fanning from the fire. 

_ We cannot lose Skyhold. _

As he stared, shoulders heaving as he panted in charred air, at the flames and ruined houses and the dead bodies of soldiers, children, and Qunari alike, a small voice in the back of his head whispered,  _ It is already lost. _

And then there was the Inquisitor. She pounded into the hold, only pausing a moment to take in the state of her burning keep before spurring on her mount. “To me!” she screamed as she galloped headfirst into the midst of the fighting.

Cullen gathered his forces behind him, following after. “To the Herald!” he shouted. They cut through waves of mindless Qunari beasts. They gnashed their teeth, they spat, pounded on cuts and bruises, each one more powerful than the last. Cullen’s arms were aching before long, sweat mingling with blood. As he was fighting two soldiers, one of their blades snuck past his defenses and sliced a gash in his chest. It was shallow, thankfully, but it stung enough to make him regret not taking the time to put on his armor.

Ellana’s frantic gaze found his own, finally, nocking an arrow and letting it fly. The second soldier fell to the ground, feathers sticking out from its eyes. She’d lost her horse somewhere in the battle. “An ambush,” he explained as best he could between pants. “No demands, no banners. Tal-Vashoth.”

Her hair was dark with sweat, lips pressed into a fine line. Zevran shadowed her, swiftly taking down a hulking warrior. Steady fingers curled into his arm, squeezing a little too tightly as she said, “Save whoever you can, then fight.”

With that, she was gone again, devouring their home-turned-battlefield like the flames. Nothing stood in their way for long, and whoever ran out of the chaos was delivered safely to the dungeon. Cullen took a few men, including Rowan whose commanding presence over the battlefield could only be likened to the Iron Bull’s, and charged back into the fight. 

He caught glimpses of the Inquisitor and her assassin as they cut through the soldiers. An arrow here and there, a form darting between houses, deadly twin shadows slicing Tal-Vashoth to ribbons.

Once, another saarebas slammed down between them and her. She looked so small compared to it, gaping up at its hulking form. Zevran slashed the back of its knees, and a wave of magicka pounded from the beast as it fell. Cullen ran forward, driving his sword to the hilt in the mage’s soft flesh before Ellana could even stand again.

In turn, Rowan took the head off a warrior that threatened Cullen. The shieldmaiden yanked the Commander out of the way, and Althea raised her hands. When she slammed them back down, bolts of lightning pounded the ground, frying all of the nearby Tal-Vashoth to husks.

Suddenly, in the midst of the chaos, there was a child and there was a gaatlok barrel. The red flashes came quicker and quicker, and Cullen ran as fast as he could.

But before he could get there, before he could get even close, Ellana was there.  _ Too late, _ he wanted to shout as she gathered the child up in her arms. She had time to take a step before the barrel exploded, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled back up, dizzy, trying to spot Ellana in the whirling cobblestones.

There were flames everywhere, and he staggered as he spotted a limp body on the ground. An arrow cut through the air, straight towards the Herald, but bounced harmlessly off the gleaming barrier Althea threw up. Fenris charged the archer that was hiding amongst the rubble of a house, knocking them to the ground and punching his greatsword straight through their chest, armor and all.

Ellana moved just slightly, trying to push upwards, but her arm gave out. She tried again, managing to stand though the right half of her body was badly burned, the armor singed and skin mottled. She staggered, hand slipping across the blood-slicked ground. She crawled towards the child, but the little boy was gone. Ellana tried to carry him, only finally giving it up when Zevran pulled her away.

The Tal-Vashoth’s numbers weren’t swelling; they were decreasing, like only one small force had attacked versus an entire army complete with reinforcements. They’d used gaatlok and the cover of night to their advantage, somehow managing to sneak into the hold. Surprise was their only advantage. Even with the meager amount of soldiers the Inquisition had in reserve at Skyhold, they had significantly more numbers than their attackers. That meant they were either ill-educated on the size of their forces, or they simply thought their advantages were great enough to be overwhelming.

As the last of the monsters were beaten, or killed, Cullen found Ellana again. She stood in the road, her armor dented and blackened and hair drenched in sweat. Her bow-gauntlet was snapped in half, leaving behind only a jagged wooden stump. She turned in a circle, holding a shaking dagger in a bleeding hand, waiting for the next target. When there was none, she let out an infuriated scream at the empty roads. “Come  _ on _ !”

Something was off about the way she was moving. He chalked it down to her injuries as Zevran barked an order at the nearest soldier. The agent stopped his killing blow, leaving the last Qunari alive.

Ellana limped towards him, and though she was injured and bleeding and exhausted, the fire was reflected in her glassy eyes. “Who are you?”

“I don’t fear death,” he said, plainly. 

Cullen grabbed him by what little hair he had, yanking his head back and resting his blade against his throat.

“Fen’Harel killed our leader,” he said. “Fen’Harel ruined the Dragon’s breath plan. You and your Inquisition are allied with him and thus cannot be allowed to remain.”

“We are  _ not _ his allies,” she hissed between gritted teeth. “We are working to  _ stop him _ !”

“You are his paramour,” he snapped back. “You will never be able to stop him because you will never be able to do what needs be done.”

And with that, the Tal-Vashoth slammed his throat into Cullen’s sword. Cullen yanked it away in disgust, but it was too late. Blood spewed across the grass.

Everyone looked to Ellana for what to do next, but she was frozen. She stared at the dead man, horror etched plainly into her features, and as she slowly looked up to meet Cullen’s gaze, he saw something dark and terrified in her eyes. 

And then she took off. She sprinted past fires, jumping over rubble, darting up the stairs to the castle. The throne room was burning, and yet she pushed on. The Commander started to chase after her, but stopped when he saw Zevran on her heels.

Cullen stared at the dead warrior, giving himself a second to catch his breath before trudging on. For all those that they had managed to hide away in the dungeons, there were even more still outside. With the battle over, some paced, some cried, some stared blankly off into space.

“I need healers!” he called, and Althea stepped around some of the soldiers to appear at his side. He put her in charge of the mages, getting even the ones with only minimal training in the healing arts to help out. They started to separate those that were wounded from the others and further split the ones who were past healing from the wounded.

When Ellana showed up again, face stained with sweat-streaked soot, there was at least a little order to make out of the chaos. Even though she looked exhausted, limping all but stumbling with every step, there was a fire burning in her eyes, determination in the way her jaw was locked tight. “How did this happen?”

“One of the guards found grappling hooks, towards the ruined part of the battlements. They must have climbed over.”

“Why did no one see them?” she asked as she stepped closer.

Cullen could only shake his head. “They hit so fast and hard, and with the gaatlok it would’ve made little difference even if they had been spotted.”

Her jaw worked as she looked at the courtyard, full with ailing people. “How many dead?”

“It is impossible to say.”

“It must have been the works of a rogue force,” Zevran said, stepping out from her shadow. “I have eyes and ears watching the Qunari and none reported an impending attack.”

“Or maybe your spies are just terrible,” Ellana snapped back.

Zevran shrugged, taking the insult in stride. “That is also a possibility. Regardless, I will elect new, better eyes.”

“Good.”

She turned her head, and Cullen saw blood trickling from her ear. He noticed then that that same side sported severe burns, and she was bleeding and bruised all over her body. “You need to see a healer,” he said. She didn’t answer, or react, and Cullen furrowed his brow and repeated himself when she turned.

She waved a dirty hand in dismissal before running it through her hair. “What are we going to do?”

Skyhold was ruined, that much was certain. The battlements, the gate, and most of the castle itself had either been blown to pieces or was burning and would soon be little but ash. They could repair, but that would take months, maybe longer. And living in an unfortified keep for months wasn’t an option, not with the amount of enemies they had. “There are other holds,” Cullen offered. “Griffon’s Wing, Suledin, Caer Bronach. Therinfal Redoubt has been abandoned since the Templar Order was destroyed.”

“It will take us a month at least to get to any of those,” she said. Desperation glittered in her emerald eyes; she didn’t like the thought of the journey anymore than he did. But it was necessary.

“Therinfal would be the most defensible,” Zevran said. “It’s worth the extra time it takes to get there.”

“But it is the easiest ambushed. It’s surrounded by forests, and it’s said to be in a state of disarray. We would have to rebuild.”

“Griffon’s Wing is in the middle of the desert,” Ellana said.

“But there is a river nearby, no? And a canyon to the back with nothing but wide, empty desert on the remaining sides. If it is an attack we fear, that might be best.”

“I say Therinfal,” Cullen argued. “What good is it to see an attack coming if you cannot defend against it? We could always cut back the tree line, once rebuilding was done.”

“The last report we got from Suledin they said that they were nearing the end of rebuilding. They had built roofs and gotten rid of most of the trees inside the fort.”

“There were trees  _ inside _ this keep, and it is still being considered?” Zevran asked.

“It’s defensible, with only one way in and out and hidden in the mountains. And there are those three colosseums nearby that could be used for any number of things.”

“It is easily missed,” Cullen admitted. “But the river is the only means of supplies. Nothing grows there; if we were to become sieged, we would not last long.”

“Caer Bronach backs up to a huge bay that leads out to a river.”

“And it is near a popular merchant’s road and the village of Crestwood,” Cullen relented.

“That settles it, then.” She walked away. She spoke with an elf on a horse, one Cullen had never seen before. After a moment of heated talk between the two, he climbed off the mount and joined the other mages in the courtyard. 

The Commander directed messengers and scouts and soldiers to pack and help the civilians prepare themselves for their journey. Ellana calmed the survivors, weaving her way through groups and consoling those that were weeping or furious. Rowan and Fenris were sifting through debris, looking for survivors, and Althea continued to go from wounded person to person.

The longer Cullen walked around, the more he could feel his wounds. They burned with every movement, and his breaths seemed to be coming harder and slower. After a while, he had to lean against the battlements to catch his breath. When Zevran came up to him, he waved the elf away.

“You are bleeding quite heavily. You need a healer as much as the other wounded do,” he persisted. When Cullen still disagreed, the assassin beckoned over Ellana.

“I’m fine.”

Just to show them, Cullen pushed off the wall. The world was spinning, black dots splashed across his vision.  _ It’s just the smoke _ , he told himself, and started walking over to one of the guards.

He made it only a couple of steps before falling heavily to his knees. A soft grunt left his lips as Ellana tried to pull him back up. However, she was wounded as well, and could only settle for calling over Althea.

Cullen was losing consciousness. His head lay in Ellana’s lap, her hands pushing on the various cuts he sported. There were so many, though, that she couldn’t possibly staunch the bleeding from all of them.

Althea knelt beside both of them, and the healing light from her hands was soft. Her fingers were gentle and warm as they touched each of his wounds. For a second, he squirmed, trying to push her away. “No m-magi-”

Ellana quickly hushed him, and Cullen Rutherford wondered how he ended up there. He went from being a Templar, the Chantry’s staunch and steadfast protectors, to the Commander of the strongest military organization in Thedas, laying in the lap of his closest friend, a Dalish woman, with a Dalish mage healing the wounds he’d received from a battle with Tal-Vashoth. Everything about it was so incredulous and ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laugh.

Ellana squeezed her Commander’s hand. 


	11. Chapter 11

The members of the Inquisition were ready to begin their march by the dawn of the next day. It was long and hard and cold. Ferelden winters were never easy, but it seemed that this one was especially cruel. The wind was biting, cutting through the thickest of clothing. Even curled up between Cullen and the pup and buried under blankets, they still spent their nights shivering.

If the Commander was overly upset about losing their home, he didn’t act like it. He was mostly put off and cranky about the sudden move, with flashes of anger whenever anyone mentioned the Tal-Vashoth that attacked. Rowan was moodier than normal, and Fenris and Althea both were too busy taking care of Althea’s younger sister to be visibly upset about Skyhold. Allena was such a sickly child, and the journey was visibly taking a toll. Althea’s lavender eyes were pinched with blatant fear whenever the girl wasn’t looking.

Mathras was one of the worst traveling companions that any of them had ever been forced to deal with; when he wasn’t whining, he was complaining, and when he wasn’t either of those he suffered an insolent anger and lashed out at anyone who came near him.

When Ellana had finally broken the news to him, he’d taken it about as she expected: with some crying, but most of it he had already managed to glean. Despite being the most annoying person she had ever met, he was wickedly smart. And even with him sulking and throwing fits, Ellana would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy his company. At least, she enjoyed talking to him about Arlathan and the lives of ancient elves. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t know very much. He claimed to be a ‘new elf’, that he had previously been a spirit that had been morphed into an elf. He served the Evanuris Dirthamen and knew of the War Against the Wolf, as they called it, but did not participate actively in it. The ancient elf was a scholar, he claimed, not a warrior. When her and Zevran weren’t out with the hunting and/or scouting parties, they flanked the mage, talking his long ears off.

Zevran waited to mention their night spent together until they were hunting in a tree, waiting for an animal to wander into their sights. “All this waiting is dreadfully boring,” he said, stretching his arms. He pinned her with a wicked grin. “I could think of more exciting things to do.”

Ellana did a double-take. It was different now, knowing that he was actually serious. Well, he’d always been serious she supposed. She snorted, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the foliage. “No.”

“And why is that?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Hm? Was it not the best night of your life?” She laughed at that, and he hissed. “Lady Herald, you must have a heart of ice to always wound me so.”

“It was pretty good,” she admitted.

Zevran grinned. “I don’t see the problem then. Does this have to do with your Commander? He does not like me much, and you would hate to anger him so.”

“It has to do with quite a few things, least of all Cullen.” Zevran sat back against the trunk, holding out his hand in a  _ by all means _ sort of way. Ellana sighed, resting her bow in her lap. “It isn’t a good idea, for several reasons-”

“That you have yet to name.”

“For several reasons that I do not  _ have  _ to name.”

He narrowed his eyes. “This has to do with your Wolf, then.”

She opened her mouth to reject it because of course not, of course it didn’t, but she turned back to the trees. He would know if she was lying anyways. “Regardless, it was a mistake.”

“Typically, one regrets mistakes.” The grin that spread across his face was sensual and wild, and she found herself unable to keep from laughing at that as well.

Thankfully, neither of them were awkward about it as Ellana had feared. She still found that he was never far from her at any time; almost always he was right beside her, lingering in her shadow.

One night at dinner, most of their inner circle had gathered around a meager fire they’d managed to build. Ellana was telling the humorous story of how she and Zevran had hunted the deer they were eating. Despite the story itself being funny, the real humor lied in watching her and the former Crow vie for the position of storyteller, often ending up talking over each other.

“Alas, it would not be so, for as soon as I raised my blade-”

“The deer ran  _ towards _ him and knocked him down, flat on his ass!” she interrupted, falling into a fit of laughter that had her snorting. Everyone joined in then as well, unable to hold back. She even managed to get Mathras smiling.

Zevran spread his hands. “It is true, I will not deny. I flipped over onto my belly to hopefully nick a leg—”

“But it was  _ gone _ . And then— It hit—”

“Must you laugh so?” Zevran demanded. “Have I not suffered enough?”

She was red in the face, bent over her knees and shaking.

“Tell us!” Althea urged, her arms wrapped around Allena’s middle. The young girl was nodding vigorously in her older sister’s lap.

“It  _ kicked _ him as it jumped over him!”

“Oh yes, what a grievous battle wound,” Cullen said over Ellana’s shoulders at the elf. When he’d gotten back to camp, Althea had healed the cut easily enough, but he was quick to tell everyone that he’d gotten it in a ‘terrible battle’.

“It was not completely a lie,” he said, raising a hand.

“What wasn’t?” Ellana asked.

Confusion flashed over Cullen’s face, as well as some of the others, but he repeated himself all the same.

Rowan still hated the Inquisitor. She had hoped, childishly, that the human would eventually come around. Perhaps if she just got to know her, the warrior would learn that she wasn’t all that bad. However, it was a naive notion that had not come to pass. If anything, it seemed as if the woman only got angrier the more she learned about Ellana.

Whenever their group of friends would sit and eat, Rowan would slink off by herself. Althea and Fenris ate with her most times, but it seemed that their friend’s constant moody behavior even managed to put them off.

Towards the end of their journey, Cullen waited until they were in their tent after one such dinner to say, “I’d like to try something.”

Ellana looked away from him as he instructed. He snapped his fingers in her left ear. She flinched from the sudden noise.

“Why did—”

“Just wait,” he said. He snapped his fingers in her right ear. She didn’t flinch. In fact, there was no response at all. Confused, she glanced to her left to see what he was doing, only to jump in surprise when she saw his hand on the right.

“What?” she asked, trying to turn back to him. He pushed her shoulders back, snapping in her right ear again.

Still nothing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before rubbing the back of his neck. “What is it?” she repeated and this time he didn’t stop her from turning. Only when the pup had plopped down in her lap did he break the news. Ellana thought it explained a lot: why she’d been so off-balance, why her movements were odd and jerky, why she never seemed to hear half the things anyone was saying.

“I am sorry, Ellana.”

She let out a heavy sigh before her lips twitched up. “Could be worse. At least it’s not my left ear.”

They arrived at Caer Bronach a little less than a month after the attack. Having been warned of their coming, the agents guarding the keep had already prepared crude houses and tents outside the fortress. The villagers of Crestwood agreed to expand to add more places for the Inquisition forces to stay, including the entire area where Old Crestwood had been. Rooms in the hold itself were prepped and ready for the higher ranking officials.

Upon hearing of the attack, the Iron Bull and his mercenary band temporarily abandoned their Venatori hunt to race south to help. Sera came too, and Madame de Fer sent some mages to help with the heavy lifting. Varric left his post at Kirkwall, bringing the extra Inquisition soldiers she’d lent to the city guard with him. Empress Celene and Queen Anora sent soldiers and supplies, though the Commander warned her to take their assistance with a grain of salt. “They mean only to garner your favor. Possibly even have you owe them a debt.”

“For whatever reason, I’m grateful,” she said. And it was true. Even with all the work that had already been completed, there was still much to be done. The entire space where Old Crestwood had been needed to be rebuilt, and Caer Bronach itself needed a few new tweaks here and there.

The Inquisitor woke at dawn and labored late into the night for days on end, focusing all her efforts on the village. She and her help built houses in the span of a few days, brought in firewood and game, killed the pesky wolves that had been troubling the town for months now. If anyone was unhappy in her delegation of time and effort, no one said anything. Of course, she had that fire in her eyes that meant she wouldn’t listen to what anyone had to say anyways.

Once they’d finally finished, providing enough homes for all of the refugees, she met with her advisors. 

“At the moment, the borders are secure,” Cullen said. “We have patrols exploring the area and verifying that everything is as it should be.”

“I want guards kept in both villages. A dozen each.”

“Good idea,” Fenris agreed. “That will keep the refugees and villagers safe from any minor threats.”

“And warn us if there is another attack on the way,” Zevran stated.

That was the one drawback of the village not being inside the keep: the town was right on the only path leading up to the fortress. Any army would have to march straight through to get to them, and the villages wouldn’t be able to stand against any sort of force.

“The location of the keep couldn’t be more perfect,” Althea said. “Most merchants travelling between Ferelden and Orlais goes this way anyways, and the ones who don’t are quickly changing their paths so that they can. The coin is flowing like never before.”

“With our choice location on the edge of the bay, you could build your own fleet, Lady Herald.”

Ellana furrowed her brows at the elf. “What would we need a fleet for?”

He shrugged. “To strengthen your forces. Not all wars are won by simply blundering your army over every surface you see.” Cullen glowered at the man.

“That might make other countries nervous,” Althea said, frowning. “They’ve already called one Exalted Council on you. Provoke them, and they’ll call another.”

“And we’ll tell them that we’re preparing for war. Again.”

Althea shared a look with Fenris before Cullen all-but blurted out, “I think we should declare war on the Qunari.” His face was flushed red with anger, and he waved his hands about as he spoke. “They attacked the castle while you were gone with explosives. It’s a miracle we even won. You heard what that warrior said: they think you’re not strong enough to do what needs be done. They see us as allies. They will work to destroy us as Solas’s biggest supports before they move against Solas himself.”

A little surprised at his sudden onslaught, she stammered, “Wha– Cullen, we agreed it was Tal-Vashoth who attacked us, not the Qunari.”

“The Qunari has come after you before, at the Winter Palace.”

“I was under the impression that the Inquisitor dashed their plans,” Althea said, looking between the two of them with confused eyes. “And with the Dragon’s breath plan foiled, they then turned their sights on Tevinter.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Ellana said. “And then a rogue group split from the main force to seek revenge.”

“Regardless, we do not have the strength,” Fenris said.

Althea nodded. “We lost many at Skyhold, soldiers included. We’d have to pull from the Chantry guards, which Divine Victoria might not be too pleased with.”

The Commander couldn’t be swayed. “If we pool our forces and add on a fleet? We could easily take them! They will continue to come after you until your head is on a pike. I  _ do not  _ intend to see that happen.”

“Neither do I, dear Commander,” Dorian commented through the crystal humming at her throat. “But, as it seems, the Qunari are a little tied up at the moment: fighting a war with  _ us. _ ”

“That’s precisely why we should strike now. An alliance with Tevinter would–”

“No.” Though she was quiet, her voice cut through the air like a whip. Cullen’s words died on his lips. “I will not ally with Tevinter under any circumstances.”

“You  _ must _ think of the greater purpose here–”

“I  _ am _ ,” she returned. Her eyes were dark with anger. “The greater purpose is not my safety; it’s my people’s. I would sooner burn Tevinter to ash than ally with them.”

“That may be the most sensible thing you’ve ever said, Inquisitor,” Fenris said dryly.

“An alliance with either groups with be frowned upon. The Council will fear an invasion with the Qunari, and Tevinter harbors blood mages and Venatori.”

“Regardless, the Qunari are not my concern, nor the Inquisition’s. It would be a waste of soldiers, resources, and time. Solas is the true threat.”

“But should the Qunari return–”

“Should they be so idiotic to return, we’ll burn them,” the Inquisitor assured. “When you helped create the Inquisition, our sole purpose was to restore order to Thedas by being the only ones to fight against the chaos. We thought we were done, but we were clearly wrong. The Breach, Solas– we can’t waste time by dealing with petty wars and personal vendettas. We have one reason to be here.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, face flushed, and waved a hand at them. It was an agreement, albeit an unhappy one, but an agreement nonetheless.

“With most of the reconstruction done, the workers the Empress and the Queen sent plan to leave tomorrow. I suggest we host a feast as a way of thanking them,” Althea offered. Ellana approved, and her and Fenris left immediately to begin preparations.

“We are also having a surge in numbers of recruits,” Cullen stated. “It seems that the Qunari attack has everyone frightened that the war will bleed into the South.”

“This is all very fine and well,” Zevran commented, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to her at the war table. He stood close enough that their arms brushed. “However, my real concern is your Wolf. I am hard-pressed to believe that he was not aware of the incoming attack.”

“I agree,” Dorian said. “He’s used the Qunari before as a means to further his plans.”

Ellana shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”

She seemed so sure that even Cullen paused. “How do you know?”

“He said it would be a few years before he could manage the power to bring down the Veil, and that he intended for them to be peaceful for all of us.” Cullen and Zevran exchanged a look, and the tense silence caused a knot of unease to tie in her gut. “What?” she demanded.

“Ellana,” Dorian began in the gentle voice he used whenever approaching a subject he knew would be delicate, “don’t you think he could have lied?”

“He wouldn’t–” Ellana gritted her teeth, hard, and bowed over the edge of the war table. Her metal arm clanked against the wood, hurting her stump with how the gauntlet pressed against it. That alone was truth enough of how much value she could take in his words.  _ Foolish little girl. _

“He specifically waited until you were gone to attack,” Cullen said.

“It is smart, no?”

The Inquisitor had to bite her tongue to hold back the scathing response; she wanted to deny it, to shoot down their accusations with truth. But what was truth to her was questionable to them– and it should be to her as well. Of course he would lie about the few years of peace. He knew she’d believe him, that all it would take would be one simple lie and she would be lulled into a dreamy state of ignorance, completely vulnerable to attack.

She straightened, making sure to meet their gazes. She was fine. She could still handle this. “Is there anything else?” They shook their heads, and she left them.

With the war council finished, and Iron Bull, Sera, and Varric leaving tomorrow, the four of them sat on an overhang across the road leading up to Caer Bronach. From their spot, they could see both villages and the surrounding farmland. They were passing a couple of flasks of wine around; Ellana could already feel the beginnings of a buzz coming, but tonight, she welcomed it. Anything to distract her from her thoughts.

“That elf–” Sera began.

“Mathras.”

“Mathras,” she repeated. “Little off his rocker, innit?”

Bull snorted. “More than a little. I thought he was going to pass out at the sight of me.”

“I’m sure he’s never seen one of your kind before,” Dorian said.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Varric said while raising his eyebrows. “I tried to talk to him, and he pretended like I wasn’t any higher than the dust on his perfect silken slippers. Not much different than the Merchant’s guild, I suppose.”

“He must know so much about magic,” Dorian said. “Is he exceptionally skilled?”

“At complaining,” Ellana said, and they all laughed. “He’s too weak right now to do much of anything.”

“Boss, have you seen that girl in the taverns? She’s near tall as me, with that  _ hair _ –”

“Yes, unfortunately. She was with Hawke, before Adamant.”

Sera choked on the wine. “Holy shitballs, she was  _ with _ Hawke and now she’s here? Andraste’s ass, she must hate you.”

“She does. She wanted to join though,” Ellana said with a shrug.

“Give her a chance,” Varric said. “She’s a little foul-tempered–”

“And foul mouthed. Words she was saying had even poor Cabot flustered,” Iron Bull added.

“Yes, but she’s had a rough go of it. She’s a good kid.”

“You’ve gotten weird people since we left,” Sera said, crinkling up her nose.

“No less weird than you,” the elf shot back, snatching the wineskin.

“And what’s up with you and that assassin?”

The crystal glowed. “What do you mean? Is there something going on? Have you been turning off your necklace?”

Ellana blamed the sudden heat in her face on the alcohol. “There is–”

“No friggin’ way!” Sera exclaimed, pushing Ellana back so she could see Bull. He gave a solemn nod while Ellana laid flat on her back. “I knew you were all smiley for a reason!”

“I am  _ not  _ all smiley.”

“You are! Every time you see him it’s like, bam, there it is!”

Dorian let out a scandalized gasp. “Ellana  _ Lavellan,  _ tell me it’s not true.”

Varric laughed. “You should see her face, Sparkles. She’s red all the way up her ears.”

She couldn’t stop the blush. Instead, she covered her face with her elbow. She didn’t  _ like  _ him, she just liked his body. Liked the way his tattoos stretched and pulled over his dark skin like they were alive, and she really  _ really  _ liked that thing he did with his tongue. When she said as much, Bull guffawed. “Shit, boss, you’re really hitting that? I just thought you were dotin’ on him!”

Sera put her fingers in her ears. “La, la, la, not listenin’!”

“That’s great,” Varric said, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

When Ellana sat back up, the Bull pounded on her back. “Good for you! You hear that, kadan, our girl is gettin’ some!”

“I’m trying not to,” Dorian said dryly. “I could have lived my entire life without knowing that about you.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Ellana said, drowning the rest of the wine.

With the alcohol gone, the four of them headed down to the banquet. People were already inside, already anxiously shuffling around, no doubt hungry as they waited for her to begin. Althea caught her as soon as she was in sight, dragging her to the raised dais where her throne sat.

_ I’m too drunk for this _ , Ellana thought as she stared out at all the expectant eyes watching her. “Hello everyone,” she greeted, and she paused long enough that the awkward silence was broken by a spattering of ‘hello’s and ‘greetings’. Althea dropped her head into her hands. “As you all know, we were just attacked. We were forced from our homes by a cowardly attack in the dead of night while I wasn’t even there. The trek here was long and hard, and the work we did was even longer and harder.” Ellana paused, frowning as she struggled to wonder if what she had just said even made sense. Althea was peeking at her through her fingers, so she couldn’t be doing  _ that _ bad. Giving up, she shook her head and pressed on: “A huge thank you to our gracious friends, the Empress and the Queen, for sending help. Also a huge thank you to anyone else who has come to help.” The Chargers whooped and clapped at the mention, only stopping when Fenris cast them a sharp, murderous glance. She went to raise her glass, only realizing halfway through the motion that she didn’t have one. “This is for you. Let’s eat!”

They applauded, and Ellana looked to Althea. She was flushed, but she let out a long breath. She caught the Inquisitor’s gaze and gave her a quick thumbs up. Ellana nodded triumphantly, all but falling into a seat next to Cullen.

“Someone started the night early,” he said.

“Sure did,” she chimed, trying to cut her roast chicken with only one hand. Cullen took over, and it didn’t take long for her to put aside her utensils and just start using her hand. Althea shot the Commander a pointed gaze from further down the table, but he only shrugged.

She started drinking from another chalice of wine, but Cullen plucked it away from her. “Cullen!” she exclaimed, but he plucked another chicken on her plate and she forgot about the drink. He took a sip, angling his shoulders away from her so she wouldn’t see.

Iron Bull came down to their part of the table later, and Ellana handed him the crystal necklace. Once most of dinner had been served, many of the people stood and mingled between the two long tables on either side of the hall. Before Cullen could stop her, Ellana stood up and started talking to them. 

Some were the sons and daughters of noblemen and women from Orlais, some were smithys and miners from Ferelden, some leather workers and fishermen. All of them had interesting stories and were more than willing to talk to the Inquisitor. Considering her inebriated state, her laughs came more often and easier, only encouraging the others to talk more.

And when the dancing started, nothing could stop her. She grabbed Cullen, despite his protests, pulling him out into the middle of the floor. He wasn’t very good, but even so, she managed to get him to enjoy himself before long. A pretty maiden, all doe eyes and soft brown curls, stood on the side, casting nervous glances towards them whenever she thought they weren’t looking. Ellana took him over to her, taking her hand and putting it in his. Both of their faces were beet red, and the elf winked at her Commander before leaving them.

Mathras sat alone, at the end of the table with some of the more elderly commonfolk. He looked absolutely miserable, barely picking at his food. Ellana pulled him to his feet and brought him to the middle of the hall. “You don’t like the food?”

“It’s all so plain,” he said.

She turned on him. “Why do you complain so much about everything?”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “This world is different. Worse.”

“This is your world now. You need to get used to it.” Was it Mathras she was annoyed with, or the fact that he sounded so much like Solas?

His dark eyes flashed. “This will never be my world.” He wrenched his arm from her grip, storming out of the throne room. A part of her felt bad for pushing him, but as Sera passed by with a plate of bread that she’d taken from a servant, all thoughts of the ancient elf were pushed from her mind. She took half a loaf and turned, her gaze catching Zevran.

He stood between two men, as if he were part of their conversation, but his amber eyes only saw her. He took a sip from the wine glass he held, his eyes dipping down and back up before a wicked smirk pulled across his face. She turned away to hide her flush.

She shouldn’t. She told him no, they weren’t supposed to, no one could find out about them. And yet, even though three people already knew, she couldn’t quite remember why no one could know or why she even cared. Just like that, all of her resolve disappeared, and she weaved her way through the crowd.

He met her halfway, his smirk turned into a grin. “That was quite the speech you gave.”

“Dance with me.”

“Straight to work. I like that.”

She laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling her into the center. They joined in the dance, kicking their feet and her swishing an invisible skirt. Zevran picked her up around the waist, spinning her around so many times that she was dizzy when he set her back down. As they swayed, he leaned his head close to her ear. “I thought we might be doing another type of dancing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like Antivan dancing?”

He laughed this time. “Just so.”

The hesitation only lasted a second before she took his hand in hers again and led him away from the crowd, out of the throne room and to her own quarters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i!! love!! ellana and zev!! so much!! okay i also love ellana so much she's the loml


	12. Chapter 12

Black tattoos curved their way down his back, across his shoulders, around his waist and down to lick his thighs and hips. She traced one such line, going from his collarbone down to a swirl that dipped into the small curve of his back. He hummed, turning over to smirk at her. “What?”

She just raised an eyebrow. “What what?”

“You have that face.” His nose squinched up as he made a face. “The one that means you’re about to ask a thousand questions. Ask them.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Do your tattoos mean anything?”

The sheets around his hips shifted. “Some do. There are some that the Crows considered sacred, but some I wanted because they looked nice. It is always a good conversation starter.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed. “I’m sure it is.”

He rolled until he was on top of her, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress. “So, tell me Lady Herald,” he said before pressing his mouth to her neck. She sighed as he peppered her throat with slow kisses. He pulled back enough for her to feel his warm breath curl against her lips, smelling of spices and wine, his amber eyes crinkled in good humor. “How many times does one repeat a mistake before it starts happening on purpose?”

She laughed, her fingers moving up and down his chest, over the ridges and smooth bumps. “As many times as one likes,” she shot back, and he kissed her smile. She pushed him away though, and he groaned as he buried his nose against her collarbone. 

“I think you’re fond of me,” he said confidently.

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “Of course, I cannot blame you. I am irresistible, after all.”

Ellana snorted, pushing his shoulder and rolling out of bed. She paused on the edge of the mattress, shivering in the chill. Aside from a slight headache, there were no other reminders of the night. Except for the man in her bed.

“We really shouldn’t,” she said.

“You were saying quite the opposite last night.”

She hit him with a pillow, and he laughed. He did look near irresistible, laying there with the sheets pulled up just past his hips. The light from the windows shone in the room, making his golden eyes and white teeth glow as he grinned at her. For a heartbeat, she wanted nothing more than to climb back in and never leave.

But she was the Inquisitor, and there were things that she needed to do. And, as much as she wanted, Zevran was not one of them. And despite all  _ that _ , Solas was still an itch at the back of her mind, begging to be scratched. He’d been missing from her dream last night, and for that she was grateful; if she’d seen him, she might have died from guilt.

Though what did she have to feel guilty for? He wanted to kill her.

Instead, she dressed, ignoring the feel of his eyes watching her every movement. Thankfully by then she was able to get dressed with little difficulty, only having to use her teeth to tie her tunic. Zevran offered to tie it for her of course, but she only cast him a quick glance before handling it on her own.

She used her body to hide his necklace as she slipped it on over her head. When Skyhold was burning, he had followed her into the burning castle as she ran to her room. She originally went for Solas’s necklace, but she grabbed a few other important things: her old Dalish stuff, her parents’ wedding rings, as many of the ancient elven books they could carry. 

Later, once they’d arrived at Suledin and unpacked, she had found the flower he’d stolen for her in her bag. No doubt he’d slipped it in there when she wasn’t looking; she hadn’t meant to even keep it in the first place. She’d set it down on the desk before getting distracted and had just never gotten around to moving it.

But it sat on her new desk now, purposely, and she gave it a passing glance before looking to Zevran. He was still in bed, arms stretched above his head.

“Are you going to stay here all day?”

“Only if you join me.” He flashed her a toothy smile, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, Lady Herald, I do not think it would do well for us to be seen leaving together.”

“I knew I hired you for a reason,” she said, and he chuckled. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard for training.”

He did, after she’d sent Sera and the Chargers off, and it seemed like everything the sneaky bastard did was meant to drive her crazy. He was never further than arm’s length from her, and it seemed that every time she stretched  _ something _ was wrong and needed to be adjusted. Which, apparently, required nearly his entire body pressed against hers to fix.

Zevran could only train for so long, however, before he had reports to look into and spies to deal with. When he finally retired, the Inquisitor went to speak with Mathras.

Finding the elf wasn’t half as hard as she suspected; she just followed the sound of raised voices to the merchant’s yard. There were several courtyards in the Keep, and the merchants, blacksmiths, and armourers had all taken up shop in the smallest one. Mathras stood, bewildered, in front of a furious peddler, who was yanking a bundle from his hands.

“This isn’t yours, you thieving knife-ear!”

As soon as he saw the Inquisitor, his face went pale with fear. “Y-Your Worship, I was just- I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, though her voice was ice.

“He will not give me my robes,” Mathras stated. He looked to be more confused than annoyed, while the poor sod was red-faced from anger. “I ordered clothing from this man, and now he will not release them to me.”

“Inquisitor, he hasn’t paid.” Ellana tossed a coin at his feet from her purse. It was grossly disproportionate to how much the clothes were worth, and the merchant looked, for a moment, as if he might argue. But, after receiving a chilling look from the elf, he swallowed his response and simply handed the clothes over.

Mathras observed the robes as they wandered to a less crowded area in the Keep. At his scowl, Ellana teased, “Not up to your standards?”

“Not by half,” he admitted with a disdainful sniff.

They sat on a bench, and Ellana faced him with her hand in her lap. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I want you to feel at home here, and constantly seeing you unhappy does little to foster that hope.”

He waved a hand, though he looked miserable. “It is alright. It was harsh, what you said, but not without truth. It is just difficult to accept.”

“Clearly you still need to get the hang of a few things.”

“I am- well,  _ was _ , one of the most intelligent of all the elves. Certainly amongst Dirthamen’s followers. It is infuriating not to know how this world works.”

“I can help with that.” Ellana shook some of her coins out onto the bench, and Mathras studied them with long fingers, scrutinizing each and every one. “I guess back then things were different, but here you’re expected to pay for services.”

His eyebrows rose in distaste. “You pay your servants for doing their jobs?”

“They aren’t servants,” she said. “They’re people, just like you or I, and they wouldn’t be doing their jobs if we didn’t pay them to.”

“Like I said: strange.”

He put the coins back into the bag and handed it to her. Instead, she shook her head, pushing it back towards him. “You keep it. I have plenty.” She watched as he tied the strings to the purse, trying to sort through the thousands of questions she had. “Did you really just have people who would do whatever you asked? For no compensation of any sort.”

“It was their role,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

At first, she thought it sounded like the Qun, which would explain why Solas hated the Qunari so much. But at second thought, it sounded much more like slavery. “Did you know Solas?” Mathras snorted and rolled his eyes. “That bad, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He was a nightmare.”

She felt like she was listening to a parent tell embarrassing stories of their child, and she couldn’t help the humored smile spreading across her face. “Well, you two are the most arrogant people I know, so I could see where the difficulty in getting along would arise.”

“I am not arrogant,” he said, wrinkles appearing around his nose. “ _ He _ is arrogant. I am intelligent, and I see no shame in hiding it. I do not force it down others’ throats, however, as he did.”

She snorted. 

He met her gaze for the first time since they’d started talking, only briefly before looking away and picking at a stitch in his new clothes. “What?”

“So much time has passed, and it sounds like he hasn’t changed much.”

“He always thought he knew what was best for everyone as well. Marching in and snatching people - happy and content people - right out from under our noses. He was infuriating.”

There was no point in beating around the bush. “He told me the Evanuris treated their followers as slaves.”

The wrinkles in his face spread, to his forehead, his chin. “Preposterous. Some may have seen their treatment as imprisoning, but they were forced to stay by none other than their own will. That they chose to stay and endure was their choice.

“Historically, there have always been two options: peace or freedom. To become safe, the people gave up their freedoms by deciding to join together and abide by laws. In order to be free, one must give up those protections and strike out on their own. It is a choice, and it is no wonder that time and time again, people still elect to gather together.”

It sounded like the Circle, truthfully. Some thought the Circle necessary, as safer: you give up your freedom in order to protect yourself and others. Others thought the Circle a trap, a prison, stripping away basic rights. But they had no choice, and who knew if the ancient elves did either?

“Some of the Evanuris were kinder to their followers than others. I had no qualms with Dirthamen. I loved him. I would have died for him.”

“And yet, we found you in Uthenera.” Mathras’s expression changed, cheeks flushing with shame. “How did you end up there?”

“He told me to. Fen’Harel organized a peace talk in Arlathan, and it was questionable whether the Evanuris would actually get along and what he had planned in case they did not agree. He knew I did not want to die, so he persuaded me to enter Uthenera as a less violent way to pass on. I did not expect to live.”

A small, sad smile curved at Ellana’s lips. She knew what it felt like to not expect to live- she knew it several times over, and she knew what it felt like to live, despite all obstacles and circumstances. “But you are living now. You’ve been given a second chance.” How many had she been given, five by now? Six? “You can start over, make new friends, find a new purpose. Just because your world is gone, doesn’t mean that this world won’t welcome you.” She reached over and squeezed his hand before leaving him.

Althea, Fenris, and Althea’s sister had their own small wing in the castle. They shared it with a few others, including a room that belonged to Rowan on the few occasions she left the tavern. Ellana knocked on Allena’s door and was greeted with a small voice inviting her in.

Allena was curled into Althea’s side, a book spread across their lap, but her watery violet eyes lit up at the sight of the Inquisitor. “Ellana!” she said grinning. 

“Hello,” she greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed. She squeezed the little girl’s leg under the blanket. “How do you feel?”

“It’s warmer here,” she said with wide eyes.

“That’s because we’re no longer in the mountains,” Althea said back as she pulled the quilt higher on the girl.

“I know.” Allena puffed out her shallow chest. “We’re in Caer Bronach in Ferelden.”

Ellana was no good with kids, that was certain. They always made her anxious, what with the crying and sudden mood swings and tantrums. They were impossible to get along with, and Creators forbid they don’t get their way. On principle, she tended to avoid them as much as she could, but when Althea had confessed to her that Allena looked up to her, she felt guilty ignoring the child.

“You’re very smart,” she said, and it must have been the right thing for the little girl grinned even wider. “How do you feel after the journey?”

“It was  _ long _ . I was so tired.”

Althea’s eyes pinched with worry. “But you’re here now,” she said, rubbing her tiny arm. Ellana felt a squeeze in her chest; Allena was dying, and it would absolutely tear the tender-hearted healer to shreds when her time eventually came.

“It was so scary.” Allena’s eyes stretched wide. “Everything was on fire, and Fenris was running really fast. I was so scared, but he wasn’t scared even a little. It made me feel better.”

Althea smiled at that, kissing the top of the girl’s head. 

“Where is Fenris?”

“Helping the other healers. He let me take a break so I could spend some time with her.”

Ellana smiled. “You’re very lucky to have him.”

The elf nodded, twining her fingers through Allena’s. Allena suddenly blurted out, “Do you love the Dread Wolf?”

“Allena!” Althea scolded sharply before grimacing at the Inquisitor. “I’m so sorry, I  _ told _ her not to ask you that.”

“Ir abelas. I just wanted to know because Althea says so but you’re always with that assassin man that Fenris doesn’t like.”

Ellana raised her eyebrows, and Althea’s cheeks blushed a pretty pink. “Ir abelas, you know how Fenris is, he’s overly protective and Zevran flirts with everyone.”

She just laughed as there was another knock at the door. Cullen squeezed through, holding something behind his back. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t act like it, only having eyes for the little girl.

“Uncle Cullen!” she squealed.

“I do believe these are for you.” He revealed what he was hiding: a bunch of gorgeous flowers, white and blue and yellow, some dainty and some with big petals. Allena gasped when she saw them, snatching them and smelling each and every one.

Ellana slid over to give Cullen room to sit beside her. “Are you feeling better?”

She grinned at him through the green stalks. “Much.”

“What do you tell Uncle Cullen?” Althea prodded her shoulder. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” she all but sang.

Cullen laughed. “Anything for my best friend.” He ruffled her hair, and she pushed his hand away. “Look at your muscles!” He reached out and gently squeezed her thin arm. “Soon you’ll be stronger than even Aunt Rowan!”

“You think?” That delighted the little girl to the point where she was almost glowing with joy. 

For a moment, Ellana got the feeling like she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t friends with these people, not really, and she would never know them. Not even Cullen; she didn’t know this side of him, would never be familiar with it. This was not her place. It was Hawke’s. Without Hawke, these vastly different people would never have met, might never have even interacted. A Ferelden Templar, friends with a Dalish mage? An elf who had once been a Tevinter slave, friends with a dwarf who spent his free time playing Wicked Grace and writing books? They had all come together perfectly, but now Hawke was gone, and she had left a jagged hole behind. In her absence, they were doing the only thing they knew to do: band together to try and heal themselves.

The little girl’s happiness only lasted for a moment before she frowned. “Something’s wrong with Aunt Rowan. She’s so sad.”

Sad wasn’t quite the word Ellana would use to describe the violent girl, but judging by the way both Cullen and Althea averted their eyes she assumed they saw a part of her that she didn’t.

“You know she’s just lonely since Hawke went away.”

Allena looked down at her toes. “I miss Hawke,” she said, her trembling little voice full of such pain that it wrecked Ellana. She took a ragged breath, that deep ache blossoming in her chest. Her eyes burned, and her stomach churned, and she felt like the walls were closing in on her. How would she have known? She had no idea how important Hawke was, not just to Kirkwall, but to all of her friends. Everyone Hawke ever met, everywhere she ever went, she left her mark. And now she was gone, leaving behind this huge, gaping hole that could never be filled again.

Ellana stood and all but fled the room, leaning against the door to try and catch her breathing. There was movement in the corner of her eye, and she looked up to see Rowan leaving her room across the hall.

The girl looked as mean as ever, dark eyebrows furrowed into a scowl and frizzy blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. She glared at the Inquisitor for a long moment, and Ellana only shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said before quickly leaving.

She didn’t stop, heading out of the Keep as fast as she could. There were trees all around the castle, and she planned to climb the nearest one and hide for the next hundred years of her life. Or at least until she was okay again.

But she ran right into something, hard enough to almost knock them both down. He grabbed her arms, and she could see leather and the ends of pale gold hair and was almost overcome with the smell of spice and sweat.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Zevran joked.

She tried to pull away, to continue on to the forest, but his grip was firm. “What’s the matter?” he asked, serious as he realized she wasn’t okay. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, to let her go, but Cole’s voice resounded in her head:  _ They want to help too. Talking will help you. _

So she turned, one of his hands still barely touching an arm, and started walking back towards the Keep. If they were going to talk, it couldn’t be here, where already people were watching them with bewildered gazes. He followed her.

They stopped on their way back inside as Cullen ran out. He looked around for a second before seeing her, his eyes softening with sympathy. “Ellana,” he said and shook his head.

“Did I miss something?” Zevran asked, confused.

She reached out and Cullen took her hand and together they went back to her room, leaving the assassin behind. As soon as they went inside, she dropped onto the floor, leaning her back against the bed and fisting a hand in her dark hair.

“We didn’t mean to- She didn’t mean-”

Ellana shook her head and waved a hand. She didn’t want to think about Hawke anymore, didn’t want to have to feel the guilt weighing down on her shoulders. So, instead, she said what she had been meaning to tell him for weeks now: “Mythal can control me.”

It was silent for so long that Ellana wondered if he had left. A peek through her fingers proved he was still there, however, with his mouth slightly open and eyebrows furrowed, as if he had heard but he didn’t quite understand. “I…” he finally choked out. “What?”

“I drank from the Well of Sorrows, remember? Drinking from it meant that I would be under Mythal’s control, and I didn’t think anything of it because the Creators didn’t exist anymore! But now they do and she’s back and she can control me.”

He shook his head, and she knew she was making a mess of explaining it. “How do you know?”

“She’s done it before.” She told him about the last time Mythal controlled her. With every word that she spoke, with every terrible truth beginning to dawn on him, he seemed to withdraw further into himself. By the end, he was just a shell, stiff and tense, as if he were made of wood. “I have an army and a castle and we’re her and Solas’s biggest enemies. At any time, she can take over and none of us would be any wiser. Cullen, if she controls me again, you have to kill me.”

That snapped him out of it. He seemed to unfreeze, coming back to life with a sharp shake of the head. “Are you insane? I’m not going to kill you, Ellana-”

She rose to her feet. “You have to! You’re the only one; if I become a threat, you have to put me down.”

“Like a mad dog,” he spat, disgusted.

“Like a mad dog,” she agreed. “If she takes over at the right moment, she could cripple us. She could  _ destroy  _ us, and we’re the only ones who can stop Solas.”

“You.  _ You _ are the only one who can stop Solas,” he said, and his face was red with anger as he jutted a finger in her direction. “He loves you. You’re his weakness-”

“He doesn’t give a  _ damn _ about me,” she argued hotly. “He’s going to kill me, and everyone else we’ve ever met, and he’s not gonna bat an eye!”

“You can  _ stop him _ ! You said it yourself that you were gonna save him from this.”

“Even if I can, Mythal will try to stop me.” She was desperate for him to see. He had to understand, he had to know the risks. He couldn’t let her lose herself and she couldn’t bear to be the reason their world ended. She stepped forward, taking his raised hand in hers. “ _ Please _ , Cullen, you’re the only one who can.”

He snatched his hand back from her, paced a few steps away. He shook his head all the while, and when he turned to face her again, his eyes were red-rimmed. “You cannot ask me to do this.”

“Who else can I turn to?” she asked, her voice quivering. “If she pretends to be me, you’re the only one who knows me well enough to  _ know _ .”

“I can’t-” He broke off as his voice failed him.

“You  _ can _ . You can and you will.”

“I don’t want to.”

She hugged him then, squeezing her arm around his middle as tightly as she could manage. He clung onto her and buried his face against her collarbone. They stood like that for a long moment.

Once they had calmed, they had their dinner brought to her room. A few others joined them, though after a while they all drifted off, leaving just her, Cullen, and Zevran sitting around.

The Commander snorted into his flask. “I don’t believe that.”

“It is true!” Zevran told him with earnest. He looked at the Inquisitor, as if expecting support, but she only drank a sip of her wine. “The urchins stripped me of every coin to my name.”

Ellana nodded. “Oh yes, the urchins’ll get you every time. Tricky bastards.”

Cullen laughed.

She didn’t want to call quits, but she could tell that Cullen was starting to tire. Regardless, the pup kept whining and walking around her room, no doubt needing to be let out. “Alright boys,” she started but broke off when her crystal lit up, casting its faint blue light across the table.

“What are you-” Dorian’s voice was far away, like he wasn’t speaking to her. A door slammed open. “What are you doing here? Guards!”

“They’re dead.” It was another voice, quieter, further away.

There was a whoosh, a crackling sound, and then a boom. Ellana shut her eyes. “Let go,” Dorian said, though faintly, as if it took the rest of his strength to say it. And then it was quiet.

The dread that she felt was a tight knot in her stomach, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Or pass out. Or laugh, or cry, the room was spinning and she squeezed her fist so tight that her nails dug into her palm.

“He’s not dead,” Cullen said.

Not dead. But what did that mean? What was that worth? There are fates far worse than death.

“He knew who took him,” Cullen added. “It must be another magister. Venatori, perhaps.”

“Your friend is smart. He must have heard them coming and turned on his crystal so that you could hear too.

No. He was an idiot. They were all idiots, to think that he could change Tevinter. He was just one mage among thousands, and the others were so strong. And now it had finally been too much and they’d taken him and were going to do who knows what to him.

She did know, though. The whispering thoughts in the back of her mind drifted into focus, chilling her heart with fear. They’d make an example of him, punish him in ways that would scare all of his followers into submission.

“We’re going to Tevinter,” was all she finally said, pushing up from the table.

Cullen stood as well. “We need a plan, Ellana.”

“We kill them,” she said, and the steely resolve in her gaze was one that hadn’t been seen since the red templars wiped out her clan all those years ago.

“Which ones?” he demanded. “Do you know where to go? Do you know how many there are, how many soldiers you need to take? You can’t kill everyone in Tevinter.”

“I will if I have to,” she shot back through gritted teeth.

“He is right,” Zevran added. “I am no good at planning, but we cannot just roam the streets going from door to door.”

She hesitated but that moment’s pause was all that was needed. She cracked, and they retreated to the war room to figure out their plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so zev is the hottest
> 
> enjoy that cliffhanger (-:

**Author's Note:**

> this is the third time i've reposted this so hopefully third time's the charm (-: (-: (-: also, althea is my friend's OC; thanks for letting me add her in lauren!!


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